Calasier Avamela Bellime
by Leonette
Summary: Harry/Draco. Elf! Harry. Now back at Hogwarts, Hari and Draco must keep their relationship a secret. But Hari has other secrets he needs to keep as well...
1. Reunion

A/N: Finally, it's HERE! Laziness, exams and a new network connection combined could not prevent my surging inspiration! Well, not exactly surging but I did get this done. That's something.

The meaning behind the title will become clear in later chapters. For now, enjoy!

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 1: Reunion**_

The two families strode purposefully up the drive, ignoring the cries of the peacocks around them. The stronger couple reached the door first while the old, stooping man stumped up the drive with his son. The younger man knocked three times on the door and, after a little noise within, the door opened, "Oh," Narcissa Malfoy stood in the doorway, looking relieved to see them, "do come in."

Glad to get out of the baking sunshine, the five filed into the sumptuous entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy was at the top of the stairs, descending to greet them, "Ah, Nott, Parkinson, glad you could come."

"What is this about, Lucius?" The old man growled, "What's worth straining my bones up your drive with only my son to help me?" The boy scowled. He would not have bothered had he known how ungrateful he would be,

"It does concern your son and young Pansy here." Lucius said smoothly, as though this was a completely polite greeting (and, by the old man's standards, it probably was), "It is my son, Draco."

"Why, what seems to be the matter with him?" asked Pansy's father, "He does not seem to be here to greet his schoolfriends."

"He is not even out of bed." Draco's mother suddenly looked sadly worried,

"Is he ill?" Pansy spoke up, looking almost panic-stricken,

"No," Contrary to his wife, Lucius suddenly looked irritated, "but he is not himself. We have sent for him in the hopes that his friends may be able to extract more information from him than Narcissa and I could."

Theodore thought that, if his parents could get nothing from him, there was not much point in attempting using his friends. However, he kept his these thoughts to himself and instead asked, "Where is he? I will meet him if conveniant."

Narcissa looked relieved, as though worrying he would refuse, "Of course. Are you coming, Pansy?"

"Of course, Mrs Malfoy." Pansy was at Theodore's side in a trice and following him up the staircase to the upper floor. Theodore didn't know whether to be irritated or impressed by her obvious devotion to Draco. Impressed because she went to him without hesistation. Irritated because he had to accompany her. Surpressing the urge to sigh wearily, he followed Narcissa along the corridor and to a door upon which a painstakingly carved wooden block was set, proclaiming the chamber beyond to be Draco's. They did not enter at first but Narcissa beckoned them closer, lowering her voice like an army general giving her troups some last minute advice before going into battle,

"He has been like this ever since he came back from a trip away from home. There is nothing physically wrong but he has hardly got out of bed since he came back. He would not even let me open the curtains." With that, she pushed the door open. Whereas the rest of the house was light-filled with windows thrown open but within Draco's room, it was dark and secluded. Some little sunlight filtered through the drawn curtains, just enough to reveal its occupant.

He looked a complete mess. The sheets were creased and half off him. A dressing gown hung around his waist, tied in an unravelling knot. Even his wrinkled pajames were lying off his pale shoulders. Draco's normally sleek hair was dishevelled, falling over his face. He gave off an air of bored lethargy; his eyes only half-open, as though he had only woke up but didn't want to get up,

"Draco, make yourself a little more presentable." Narcissa sighed. Draco did nothing but screw up his eyes, not used to the bright light. Seeming to give it up as a lost cause, she ushered them in and closed the door. The dimness settled at Draco rolled lazily onto his side to look up at them,

"'Lo." He half-yawned. He didn't even seem remotely happy to see them. Pansy was the first to make a move. Rather foolishly, she sat down on the bed beside him,

"Draco, are you feeling alright?"

"As good as I can in this place." Draco sighed and rolled over again so he was facing away from her. Theodore had the impression that he didn't want to talk to them. Pansy being Pansy, she didn't pick up on this. Instead, she marched straight around the bed and sat down again so she was facing him again,

"Draco, what's wrong? We can help you."

Draco made a noise somewhere between disbelief and annoyance. He then lay flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling, "You could do something: go away or open my bedside table drawer." Pansy flinched at this but obeyed. She opened the drawer, "Right, now take out that black box." Again, she obeyed, "What's in there is all yours." Rather more excitedly this time, she opened it. Theodore only saw her face whiten,

"This is-"

"All the letters and presents you gave me." Draco's voice, though heavy with weariness, became cold, "I won't need them anymore. How could I love you now? You cannot satisfy me. You are nothing but a dog in my eyes. How did I ever love you? You were always like this. Why didn't I see it before?"

All through his speech, Pansy's eyes got wider. Then, those eyes grew wet. Clasping the box to her chest, she flung herself from the room, her sobbing echoing down the corridor. Theodore was shocked. Draco and Pansy had been close ever since second year and Draco showed no signs of a loss in interest. True, Pansy clung to him, obsessing with him too much and was sometimes downright obnoxious but he never showed any tending towards anyone else. Unless...

While Theodore thought this all through, Draco rolled over again, losing interest in his rejection of Pansy, and began to play with a crystal pendant around his neck on a golden chain. Theodore peered intently at it: it was very finely made. Clear crystal encasing a golden flower. It looked very valuable and expensive. But, there was something otherworldly about it. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Perhaps the almost-perfect cut of it or how delicately real the flower looked,

"What is that, Draco?" He asked, at last. Draco slowly turned over to look at him,

"This?" He gestured at the pendant, "Just a present from someone."

Theodore waited patiently for an elaboration but none came. Instead, Draco stretched out and stared at the ceiling with clouded eyes,

"What is the matter with you?" Theodore sighed at last, becoming impatient, "You would never do that to Pansy. Why are you acting like this?"

"Oh, I dunno." Draco yawned, "It just feels...pointless somehow. Just...everything. Everything's so _boring_ now. So dull and tedious. Everyone's so normal and _dreadfully boring._"

Then, he feel silent and continued to stare at the ceiling. Finally feeling that he had seen enough, Theodore stood, "Well, I'd better go and see where Pansy went." and left. He closed the door behind him and, while walking down the corridor to the stairs, he pondered over what he had seen.

Finding Pansy was easy; she was a person who was heard before seen. She was crying into her mother's lap and her father was furiously berating Lucius on Draco's behaviour. So loud was her bawling that he was surprised that he was heard coming in at all, "Well?" Lucius demanded, seeming desperate to get away from the shouting of Mr Parkinson, "What have you found? What has he said to you?"

"Not much." He admitted, "Except that he is in love with another."

Pansy's head shot off her mother's lap at once to goggle at him, all traces of tears vanishing abruptly,

"He did not tell me as such." Theodore amended, "I worked it out from his behaviour. You say he was away from home for a time, Mrs Malfoy?"

"Yes." Narcissa nodded from the corner, "It was completely unannounced. He just took off and we didn't see him again for weeks. Or even hear from him."

"No correspondence? No letters?"

"No, not a word."

"That proves it, then." Theodore said, smartly, "He must have met someone there and fallen in love with them. Not to mention that he is so in love that he sees everything as boring and unworthy without that someone."

The adults exchanged looks. Lucius was the first to speak, "Very well. We will talk to him over dinner and perhaps a trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow will bring him back to sense."

* * *

It was easy to truly marvel at the elven beauty when observing the human world. Everything was so much brighter and more elegant in Valivial. Now back in England, Draco couldn't help but lament how dreary everything seemed. Even the sun was dimmer somehow. The stone of the buildings was dull, dank, as though uncared for. No artwork seemed as wonderfully intricate or beautiful as the ones he found in Valivial. All was boring and uninteresting.

Diagon Alley was much the same. Where the Quidditch shop had fascinated him, it was now just a haphazard arrangement of objects. The shiny broomsticks nothing but overpolished bits of wood. Everything, he realised, was either overdone or underdone in the human world. No one seemed to have any sense of what was perfect and what wasn't.

His parents pointed things out to him and he only half-heartedly looked around, expecting nothing and being proved right. He knew they were getting increasingly worried about his strange behaviour but he did not care. When his father beckoned him into Knockturn Alley while his mother got new potions ingredients, everything looked twice as vile and unpleasant. He half-wanted to go around with his eyes shut but, if he did that, he would never get out.

It was only when they entered Borgin and Burkes did Draco's interest perk up. At the counter, a heated arguement was going on. The counter was the only thing that separated Mr Borgin and a cloaked figure. Nothing remarkable appeared to be haunting the situation if not for how small the figure was. He was only about half or a whole foot below Draco's height, "Who does that little whelp think he is?" muttered Lucius, "Come. Let us see what is the matter."

The door swung open and Lucius strode in, "Why, when do you hold arguements with mere children, Borgin?" He asked, condescension oozing from his voice,

"Why, Mr Malfoy," Borgin's voice became oily at once and Draco didn't know why he never realised how unpleasant he was, "perhaps you can help me put this 'little whelp' in his place. He insists that I charge too much and use underhanded methods to gain my goods."

"Oh, I know you do," A wonderfully familiar sneering voice came from within the hood, "It is clear from simply looking at these goods. Your inventory is fraught with falsehoods."

"What would you know about them?" Lucius sneered back. Draco excitedly began noticing other familiar things: the crest of Lindaria on the clasp, the beautiful embroidery around the hem of the cloak, the brown bony hands and the immediate reply of,

"Why, sir, I took the liberty of examining some of his wares and discovered the haphazard handling that no fair trader would give them and the way some of the more valued are kept out of sight of the windows. Yes, I do admit that there are some items of worth within this establishment, I have experience with the trade of such and know their given values well. If you are to tar your own perception of my wisdom with meaningless insults about my age, I shall make you both blind so we may speak more to the point!"

Though he was unmistakably in child form, the personality was still the same. Lucius glared at him with contempt and some confusion at a child arguing like an adult. Seeming to give them up as a bad cause, the figure strode towards the door, "If you shall be deaf to the truth even you know, then there is no point in speaking to you. Good day, gentlemen." With that, he flung open the door with unnatural force and swept away. Borgin let out a harrassed breath,

"He's been a lot of trouble, Mr Malfoy. He drove away two customers with his accusations."

Draco saw the opportunity of the conversation to slip away. Praying it would go on for a long time, he caught the door before it closed and sneaked out. After a little searching, he saw the figure lurking in an empty alley. Growing more and more excited, he pushed through a throng of bearded wizards and all but ran into the alley,

"_It has been quite a while since I saw you so small._" The tongue became Elvish as Noalith pushed back his hood. Though he was in the body of an eleven-year-old, he still had his dark ponytail. His ears, though not the long points of the elves, had a definitive square edge on the corner and his eyes were still sharp and all-seeing. All these features were familiar since Noalith had once visited Ariador as an Ambassador from Lindaria and Hari had introduced him as a close friend,

"_You can talk!_" Draco grinned down at his diminutive size. Noalith scowled,

"_You are as bad as your father; making meaningless comments about my human age!_" But there was a hint of a smile playing about his lips, "_Hari will be very glad to see you._"

"_Hari?_" Draco's heart missed a beat at the name, _He's here?_

"_He is._" Noalith nodded, demonstrating his Rinatula since Draco had not spoken, "_He has been here every since you came back home, staying in that public house that is the gate to Diagon Alley._"

"_The Leaky Cauldron?_"

"_Yes. He stays there for the last few weeks of the summer in the best room there. If you wish to seek him, his haunt is the bookshop._"

Draco's smile brightened, "_Great, thanks!_" Vaguely hearing his father calling him, he hurried away. As soon as he reached him, he ignored the repremand about wandering off and immediately asked him about going to Flourish and Blotts. Lucius was a little taken-aback by this sudden enthuasiasm but complied to take him there immediately.

Beaming all the way, Draco found himself practically skipping to Flourish and Blotts, attracting stares from passers-by and more confused looks from his father, _Let them stare. I will see my Prince soon. Oh, it feels like forever since I've seen him. _Every second he was in the human world, he had missed him. The world seemed to crawl and lose all colour without him,

"Slow down, slow down, Draco." His father whispered, who was jogging to keep up, but Draco wasn't listening. He had spotted Flourish and Blotts up ahead. He completely bypassed Blaise Zabini and his mother on the way in, who stared agog after him. The bell above the door rang intrusively above his head, jolting him to the realisation that he did not know what his Prince would look like in human form. He knew Noalith looked much like his Elven self but he wasn't so sure about Hari.

He glanced around, trying to pick out similiar traits. Arawen had said they were of smiliar age in human years but how similiar? Fortunately, there were only a few people around his age and none even had dark hair. He looked more closely, looking for green eyes and pale skin, _How can someone so striking beautiful as he be so hard to find?_

"Lost, are we?" A familiar voice sent him hurtling back to earth and he jerked his head up to be staring straight into the face of Harry Potter. Draco scowled,

"Go away, Potter. I haven't time for you." He didn't have the will to come up with a clever remark. Thankfully, Potter shrugged offhandly and went upstairs, giving Draco the idea that he hadn't looked up there yet. Resigned to the fact he would probably run into him again, he ascended the steps as soon as Potter was out of sight.

He looked around the place for anyone who was likely to be Hari but there were only a group of middle-aged witches huddled around some new romance novel. He scanned the shelves, the alcoves and the hidden parts again and again, concentrating so hard for a likeness of his Prince. He was concentrating so hard that he forgot to avoid Potter and had turned around the bookshelf he had disappeared to without thinking,

"You are _very_ slow, you know." There he was, leaning against the shelves, grinning. Draco hadn't time to puzzle over what he had said. He turned once more but was caught by the wrist and dragged back, "Take another look, Draco."

"I told you, I haven't time for you." Draco sighed, _What on earth did he want? Why won't he let me go? _Potter never acted like this. Normally, it was he who tried to avoid Draco, _And, why is he calling me Draco anyway?_

"Really?" Potter's voice became to an uncharactaristic drawl, "I thought you were looking for me. Or, do you not recognise me?"

_It can't be..._He looked around to stare at Potter. Raising his other hand, Potter removed his glasses and slicked back his hair, which fell surprisingly easily into place as he smoothed it. Something misty and flesh-coloured came off his face as though he had been wearing powder, revealing bright snow white skin. He was every inch the Prince. Draco could do nothing but goggle in amazement, _All this time he was so close and I never noticed! Wait...Oh, Merlin, I've slept with Harry Potter!_

"_Perhaps my story was lacking._" Hari said in Elvish, as he scooped Draco up by his upper arms and placed him on a small table, "_I have been watching you from afar at Hogwarts. My persona of Harry Potter prevented me from approaching you and I dared not for fear of rejection. I kept you in Valivial in the hopes that you would fall for me. It was a very small hope but it prevailed._"  
_As if anyone would __**not**__ fall in love with him!_ Draco thought, as he thought of Hari's beauty now shining through the human mask. His mind was still realing from the revelation and Hari's penetrating stare was not helping matters. His face was growing hot again, _Damn, I thought I'd got over all this. _It was like he was a child again when he had first seen the Prince. His face was red, his breathing became irregular and his pulse was racing. Hari smirked,

"_Have we been apart for so long that you blush like a schoolgirl whenever you see me again?_"

Draco had to say something. But, what to say to the person who he had slept with in Valivial for the last four Elven years and was now standing in the guise of whom he thought was his arch-enemy? "_Er..._" He stumbled for words, racking his disorientated brain, "_...you...Noalith told me that you were staying at the Leaky Cauldron..._" If possible, he must have gone an even deeper crimson. Of all things he could have said, it had to be that!

"_Yes. I stay there for the last few weeks of the summer holidays here just to buy what I need. Where did you meet Noalith?_"  
"_In Knockturn Alley._" Draco said, quickly, glad at least that that Hari did not think he was stupid, "_He was arguing with Borgin about prices._"

"_Ah, yes. Noalith has expertise in merchantile so naturally he would notice if something was overpriced._" Hari nodded, distractedly, "_Did you see anyone else?_"

"_No._" Draco shook his head. He wasn't expecting to see anyone else from Valivial but he had been told that Maltandir was a master of disguise,

"_Many people have come from our world to see the human world. Including Noalith, there are the Princesses of Alqualond and Ithil'orad, with their ladies-in-waiting in tow, and the Prince of Alqualond. But that matters not._" A mock sorrow appeared in his face, "_Your love for me has faded._"

"_No, Hari!_" Draco gasped. His love had done so such thing. In fact, he felt that it had increased in their time apart,

"_Yes, it has._" Hari gave an overly dramatic sigh, "_We have been reunitied for five minutes and you have not told me how happy you are to see me._"

Draco felt the retreating blush come back with full force. He'd been too surprised that his Prince was Harry Potter to do anything like that. His words stumbled again, "Er...er..."

"_Well,_" A predatory look appeared in his eyes, "_if you will not, then I shall._" Realising what he meant a second too late, Draco kissed back with full force. He never knew how much he had missed his Prince. He felt Hari curl his arms around his waist and he followed suit. Like always when they kissed, he could not distinguish who did what. They were one, as they should be,

"DRACO!"

"_Damn,_" Hari groaned, as they reluctantly separated from each other, brutally becoming two again, "_this is not our best place._" He leaned in so his lips were inches from Draco's ear, "_Room Twenty One. I will be waiting at ten o'clock. Do not fail me._"

With that, he helped Draco down from the table, leaving him to walk in a daze outside into the main shop. The meeting had been too short, brutally cut off by his father's calling. He could not help but feel resentful as they left the shop. His father had selfishly taken him from the very thing he had been moping over ever since he got back to that dull, stifling building he called home. He should have had a longer time with Hari. He had only just found him and it wasn't fair that he had so short a time with him.

He remained sulky and quiet all through the day and would not talk to his father unless he needed to. Lucius noticed his sullenness and took great offence at it, "Do you want me to leave you here and forbid you from Malfoy Manor for the night?" He finally snarled, as Draco refused to answer him twice in a row,

_Yes, I would like that very much, actually. It would give me an excuse to see my Prince sooner,_ He thought,

"No, Father." He said out loud, simply to please him. It would seem suspicious to be overly happy about being abandoned by his family.

* * *

The whole shopping trip continued in the same vain, Narcissa caught in the strain of the tension between father and son. Normally, she enjoyed it but now, she wanted to get everything over with as quickly as possible. Of course, the disadvantage of this was that they went home early as a result and Draco had to endure hour upon hour of lounging on his bed, doing nothing because anything else was pointless. The hands moved like overweight slugs, dragging time with them, _How much more can I take?_ He thought, hopelessly, as he realised that only a quarter of an hour had passed. Everything seemed to take ages, even the nights. He could not even sleep a wink the first night back home.

Perhaps he could not sleep because of how Elven he had become. He had soaked up so much of Elven ways that he was becoming one himself. As Leonas said, he was 'one step on the side of becoming an elf'. One thing he had noticed was that Elves ate very little. A light meal at the middle of the day was enough. The amount they had varied. The more energetic they would be, the more they ate. When he had asked about it to Leonas, he explained it all. He repeated what he had said in his mind,

"_We use energy more efficiently than humans. Humans store excess energy they do not use as body fat but we do no such thing. Nearly every bit of energy has to be used up before we can sleep. We have no places to store it if we do not require it. It can be very inconveniant if we accidently have too much. We may have to stay up whole nights. I have heard of humans having devices in their bodies to make them tired at night; an evolutionary asset. We have no such devices. Even on the blackest night, we do not feel inclined to sleep if we have too much energy._"

_How am I going to manage in Hogwarts then? _Draco thought suddenly, _I will have to eat three times a day or people will think something's wrong!_ He began to worry about what he would do at night, _But Hari's been through all this. He'll know._ He couldn't help but feel relaxed with the prospect of asking Hari. Though he knew it wasn't what Hari was looking forward that night. Perhaps he would ask him in the morning.

He refused to come down to dinner. His new worries about eating too were taking hold of him by that time. His mother looked as though she would drag him downstairs for a moment but then gave up. She went downstairs, saying he would have to come downstairs if he wanted any leftovers. He would not come. He would not tell his mother that he would be out that night. She only came in his room around midday everyday and he was undisturbed in the morning. No one would notice.

Finally, after what felt like an excruciating eternity, the hands on the clock read five minutes to ten. He had wanted to get there early but was wary that Hari would be in the middle of something and would not appreciate it. He knew that Hari specified times for a reason. He slumped off his bed and, just as an extra precaution, stuffed some castaway clothes under his bedspread.

Then, wearing the sparsest clothing possible, he crept from his room and across the hall. He could hear his parents downstairs talking. He would not need the drawing room fireplace. The one in his parents' room would do. But that was all the way across the corridor. Crouching in the sneak position he had been taught by Elivor, he stretched out his leg. Step by step he took, his heart racing, he got nearer and nearer to the door.

Finally, he managed it. Creeping within, he found the room mercifully open and the fireplace ready. He crept across the floor, knowing that the new house elf could always turn up any moment. Once close enough, he tossed the pinch of Floo Powder he had stolen, stepped within and called, "The Leaky Cauldron, Room Twenty One."

After a moment of dizzying motion, he shot out of the fireplace only to be caught by strong, warm familiar arms. Looking up, he saw his Prince in full Elven beauty though looking slightly odd in a black cotton shirt and trousers. The shirt was tantilisingly opened by a few buttons at the top, showing his snow-white chest. In one swift motion, Hari whisked up Draco's Suppression Rosary (which held onto his upper arm) and pulled it off.

It had been strange enough wearing it for the first time but taking it off was even stranger. Instead of the feeling of donning a layer of clothing, he felt it lift at once and what a relief it was. He almost breathed out a sigh as his hair grew and his skin paled even more. He even felt warmer than before. He never noticed how cold he had felt before. Or was that because he was without his Prince?

* * *

A/N: Well, was that alright? Was that worth over a month's wait?


	2. The Hogwarts Express

A/N: Yes! It didn't take a month and, though it isn't the best, it's here! And it's snowing here! Hooray! I'm so happy because of that and all the reviews I've got. Thank you so much!

**evildictionaryninja: **Ah, it'll be a long time before I'm done with this story, never fear.

**Someone you probaly don't know: **Don't worry, I didn't take a month. Please, when you've finished reading this, take some time to read my other two Calasier Avamela stories. I really recommend that you read the Prologue bit. It'll help you understand this story later on.

**Y-dO-u-CrY: **Thanks. I do like to write a good story and not just churn out any old thing that comes into my head.

**EngelCre:** I was wondering whether you'd abandoned me! Great to see you reviewing again. Again, please check out my Prologue before reading more of this. You'll see why in later chapters!

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 2: The Hogwarts Express**_

The sun filtered through the smallest of gaps in the curtains, leaving a thin strip on the dully coloured bedspread. The only things moving was the dust swirling in the sunlight. The noise outside was steadily increasing as the city woke. Still, no one in the room moved. It was a peaceful time for those within.

That is until a rude knock on the door disturbed them. The bed covers shifted and dark hair emerged from it, "Go away." A voice groaned, "And let me get some sleep." Nevertheless, the door opened and someone entered. The door swung shut with a bang and a chuckle was just audible over it,

"Forgive me, Hari." Noalith smirked, "I realise that I may be interrupting an...intimate moment," He had spotted the other lump under the bedsheets, "but I believe you would prefer me to do it rather than someone else."

The bedcovers were pushed back and a tousle-haired Draco glared up at him, "Who wants to see Hari at this hour?"

"It has only come to nine, Draco." Noalith pointed out but Draco shook his head,

"Too early for Hari. He'll be comatose til noon. Come on, you lazy pointy-eared twit. Wake up!" Draco shook Hari, who had sunk back down on the pillows. Hari groaned again,

"Oh, Draco, will you turn on me as well." He pulled the sheets over himself so only a few strands of black were visible,

"Oh, don't be such a drama prince." Draco sighed, seeming to give him up as a lost cause and turned to Noalith, "So, who wants to see Hari?"

"The Minister for Magic."

"_What?_" Draco's eyes widened, amazed, "Hey, Hari! Did you hear that? The Minister wants to see you!"

"Tell him I'm an anarchist." Hari growled, "I'm not interested in his policies, whatever they may be."

Noalith looked amused, "He wishes to talk to you about your safety, what with this escaped murderer on the loose."

"What escaped murderer?" Hari raised his head, interested for the first time since he woke up,

"Yeah." Draco looked up as well, "No one can break of Azkaban, surely!"

"Well, this person in question has." Noalith sat nonchalantly down on the side of the bed and pulled out a _Daily Prophet_ with a picture of an gaunt man with a mass of dark matted hair, "This man has just escaped from a high security prison after residing there for twelve years. No one knows how, there was no sign of destruction to make an escape route, he had no wand and now he is on the run." He ruffled his papers in a casual way and spoke matter-of-factly but a playful smile lit his lips, "He was imprisoned for the murder of thirteen people, one a wizard, the others Muggles, by causing an explosion in the middle of the street that exposed the sewers. Oh, and everyone believes he was a strong Death-Eater close to Voldemort."

Harry made a skeptical noise, "He cannot have been so strong that he did something as cowardly as killing them with an explosion and not directly."

"Exactly." Noalith nodded, "In fact, it was this oddity that made me take the liberty of examining this case further."

"How?" Draco asked, "Was there more in the article?"

"Lamentably, no." Noalith shook his head but the playful smile appeared again, "It made me all the more adament to find every detail. I had a feeling that perhaps not the whole truth had been given. I entered the Ministry-yes, I did, Draco." He nodded, at Draco's aghast face and thoughts, "Nothing can stop me when I have a mission in mind. I found the archieves and found no details of a trial for this man or in-depth analysis of the scene. I searched and searched but found nothing. Then, I found that there had been _no _trial and _no _in-depth analysis of the case."

"Prejudice?" Hari put his head to one side, trying to get a good view of the picture,

"Perhaps." Noalith nodded. His smile grew wider, looking distinctly like he knew something they didn't, _And he probably does._ Draco thought, "It may have been because it is believed that he betrayed his best friends to Voldemort, leaving them at his mercy. It was twelve years ago." He added. Draco hadn't thought this so he looked around at Hari.

He was shocked at the expression on his face. He was glaring at the man in the picture with a mixure of confusion and anger. Draco guessed he had thought another question since Noalith gave the tiniest of nods in response. Then, Draco actually jumped when he spat, "But that is not Pettigrew! Who is he?"

Still with the knowing smile on his face, Noalith closed the newspaper and showed him the front cover. The headline bore the name, _Sirius Black._ Draco could make neither head nor tail of the name but he did not need to turn to know what impact it had made on Hari. His anger seemed to radiate around him, a handful of bedsheet was ripped clean from the rest by his clenched fist and he could faintly hear a growl coming from his throat.

Next thing he knew, he had to jump clear from the bed when his fist smashed into the bedstead holding up the canopy above them. The shockwave seemed to have knocked the othet three, making them buckle and break. With a great creaking crashing noise, the canopy came crashing down onto the bed. Noalith had already managed to get out of the way, having leapt delicately off the bed before Hari had even moved. He had probably known what he would do in advance.

Hari had managed to salvage the paper and was seething on the spot with suppressed rage. Draco gulped. The last time he had seen Hari so angry was when he had come back from the Renelata Valley battle (as it was now called) and Draco had been thrown in Numeranor. Not that Draco liked to remember that incident. Presently, he began to hear angry Elven words among his growls, "_...foolish incompetant fools but this! This of all blunders to perform! How is it that the rulers of this place cannot even tell friend from foe? Were they so desperate that they arrested the most innocent person and paint a picture of him being the most wicked? Were the public so foolish that they believed...?_"

A snicker from the other side of the room distracted him. Draco looked round and saw Noalith still smiling. Knowing what he had done, Draco sighed, "You planned this, didn't you?" He mouthed, "Keeping Black's name to the end and putting the other details first." Noalith merely smirked,

"His reaction is better every time. Besides," He added, taking a significant glance at the floor, "the Minister is downstairs and doubtless Hari would discover this from him instead of me. If that were to happen, the damage would be more difficult to repair than a broken bed."

Draco too could imagine what Hari might do if he had got it from the Minister. Noalith then put his hands behind his head and leaned against the wall, "So," He said, conversationally, "it took you surprisingly long to recognise Hari, I gather?"

"Get out of my head." Draco snapped, blushing. Ignoring the demand as usual, Noalith continued,

"I would have thought it was obvious by the name. Harry is not far from Hari after all."

"Well, would you kindly keep your thoughts to yourself and do the same thing to me?" Draco growled. He had been told that his Rinatula and blunt honesty was irritating and he could see that was true. Noalith merely smirked and began playing with his long lovelock that hung at the centre of his face, coming all the way to the nape of his neck. It was a while before he spoke again,

"You were wondering about Elves who would be coming to Hogwarts with us, were you not?"

"Oh, yeah." Draco had only just remembered as Noalith spoke, "How many are there?"

"Nine including us three. The tradition is that the Princes and Princesses of the Entante come to Hogwarts if they choose with their servants along with at least one Nimohtar. That Nimohtar is I; it was Maltandir last year."

Draco nodded. Hari had told him how Maltandir had came to Hogwarts in the guise of Gilderoy Lockhart. This he had found extremely hard to believe. It was a while before realising the number of Elves coming seemed strange, _The Princes and Princesses of the Entante. That's Alqualond, Valivial and Ithil'orad. So, one of each...that's three...three servants with them...including Noalith..._"That's only seven." He said alond, knowing that Noalith probably heard his calcualtions,

"Your calculations are flawed, Draco. The Prince of Alqualond is accompanying the Princess."

_Elivor's coming? Oh, yeah, he could go in his cat form and pretend to be Maederhwen's pet,_

"Quite correct." Noalith nodded,

"So, is the Prince of Ithil'orad married?" Draco asked, realising there was still one missing,

"It is the _Princesses_ of Ithil'orad." Noalith corrected, giving him the look that told him he would have to work it out himself,

"Is she like me? You know..." He made a significant gesture to Hari and then himself,

"No, unmarried. Try again." Noalith shook his head, with the irritating superior look back on his face. Draco thought it through for a while and then, it clicked,

"Twins?"

"At last." Noalith rolled his eyes, making his face all the more punchable, "You have never seen Elven twins before, have you?"

"Are they any different from humans?"

"On the outside, no. You will know when you meet them. Now," He lifted himself off the wall lazily, "why not stop Hari killing the Minister?"

For Hari was indeed striding towards the door, still muttering curses under his breath.

* * *

Draco found himself pushed back and forth, clutching his trunk for dear life. He had never seen the station this crowded. By misfortune (and Draco forgetting to pack properly), they had landed just when the most students were crowded on the platform. His father snarled at first years, making them run from them and his mother stood on her tiptoes trying to spot some of Draco's friends, keeping close to the wall for some support. Draco too looked around the place but not searching for the same people as his mother.

He had spotted a dark scruffy head and was thinking about 'accidently' getting swept away by the crowd when his father grabbed him and pulled him backwards. His usual gang of Slytherins were pushing their way through the throng. He saw Pansy with them, who gave him a desperate sort of look that disgusted him. In fact, everything about her seemed to disgust him nowadays,

"Forgive our lateness." Lucius said, through gritted teeth, "Draco seemed to think that he could have a late start today."

Draco scowled. He had in fact been out all night with Hari in Muggle London since both had eaten too much that day and could not sleep. It had been a wonderful night. He and Hari had spent the whole night wondering the streets then climbing atop high buildings where no one could see them to kiss...

"_HI, DRACO!_"

A familiar voice rang over the loud murmers of the crowd. He could only look round in time to see Pansy being bowled over. She was sent sprawling to her knees, leaving her back exposed. A barefoot blonde, bob-haired girl leapt on Pansy's back and leapt five foot up from it as though Pansy had been a springboard. She whooped, drawing stares from around her, as she landed right on Draco's chest,

"Ooph!" Draco went crashing to the floor with the girl on top of him. Maederhwen laughed,

"Still alive, huh, Draco?"

"Uh...hi, Madeline." He grinned, weakly, aware of the people staring at him. Maederhwen winked and mouthed _Bingo_ silently,

"Gotta go!" And with that, she was away, disappearing into the staring crowd. In the time it took for people to recover from the sight, Draco saw a dark-haired girl and a black cat make their way through the crowd after her,

"Who the hell was that girl?" Blaise gaped, even after most people had starting moving again,

"Friend of yours, Draco?" Theodore asked, scrutinising him carefully as he always did when he was trying to figure something out. It didn't help that he was looking down on him so Draco stammered,

"Er...yeah. Met her over the summer." He picked himself up quickly, not wanting to be looking up at him all the time. He gave a nervous little laugh, "She's a bit crazy." _That's an understatement, _he thought. Maybe it was his imagination or could he hear her calling out to the Weasleys in the same way? "Anyway," He wanted to draw the attention away from Maederhwen that had already been attracted, "we'd better get on the train now we're all together, huh?"

Thankfully, they all began to pick up their trunks and make their way to the train. Narcissa caught him a last hug before he was swept away by the throng. He was never quite sure whether it was an accident or he was subconsciously attempting to avoid them but he found himself in the train with the Slytherins nowhere in sight. Not quite sure where to go, he stayed still, looking around for a familiar face. Then, he spotted something to make him do a double take.

At first, he thought that someone had bewitched two life-size china dolls to come to life. Then, he realised that they were moving too fluidly and their eyes were too liquid. They were identical twin girls stood about ten feet away from him, holding hands and so alike in appearance and posture that they might have been just one standing in front of a mirror.

They were looking straight at him with eyes the colour of amethyst, lined with unexpectedly long eyelashes for two so young. Both were pale as porcelain, their coppery ringlets exactly identical in place and length, and wore antique-looking lavender dresses with gold ribbon and lace trims, complete with wide-brimmed hats. It was no wonder they were drawing stares and pointing fingers from around them.

There was no doubt that these were the Princesses of Ithil'orad. He couldn't quite define it but he could tell they were elves in human form. Perhaps it was their elegant gait or their doll-like faces, he wasn't sure. They did not speak but simply stopped a foot from him. At last, they let go of their hands for a moment, allowing another girl to squeeze through.

She was plainer and smaller than the twins, with cropped mahogony hair and bright blue eyes. Her clothes were more subdued, just a long-sleeved jumper and jeans, looking remarkably inconspicious. When she saw Draco, she gave him a big grin, "Hi. You must be Draco." She held out a hand,

"Yeah, nice to meet you." He took it politely...and almost winced at the strength she gripped it with, _Must be a Mountain Elf,_

"I'm Heidi Thomas." She smiled then dropped her voice and added in Elvish, "_Also known as Herenda Tolmen_." She turned to the twins, "This is Galatea and Estella Ashford. _Also known as Gallothia and Estelliel Arvandor._" The twins remained silent but inclined their heads in greeting. He noticed that they didn't seem to need to blink as often as others, "Come. The Prince of Valivial wants us all his compartment at the end of the train."

"How are we all going to fit in there?" Draco wondered aloud. Herenda seemed to be worrying this as well. However, she turned and began to move down the train. The twins turned, clasped hands again and walked in total syncronisation before them. Draco could understand why people pointed and stared. He hadn't even seen the Weasley twins, who were never one without the other, act this way. So alike, never an individual gesture but moving as one,

"Astonishing, isn't it?" Herenda smiled, "I don't think there's a pair of twins closer than Galatea and Estella. Even by Elven standards. They are so close that they could speak to each other through their minds before they could walk."

"They can speak through their minds?" Draco repeated, astonished. He had never heard of anyone managing that before,

"Yes." Her voice lapsed into a matter-of-fact tone, "One of the most fundamental abilities of elven twins. They can talk telepathically when in physical contact with each other. You see?" She gestured at their small clasped hands, "They're wondering if you really are the Prince's _Nienna_."

"How can you tell?"

"Well, I was born on the same day as them so I can tune in to their conversation with a bit of effort. It helps because, then, I can relay what they want to say to others."

"Why? Don't they like talking?"

"They _cannot_ talk, Draco." She whispered, so a group of goggling fourth years couldn't hear, "They never learned how. They don't want to learn, actually. They are happy as they are. We cannot let anyone know or humans will misunderstand."

Draco could imagine very well what others would think, "They'd force speech on th-_her_." He added, on an inspiration. Herenda raised her eyebrows and the twins turned to gaze at him. Then, their rose-red lips flicked up into little smiles before they turned and moved again. Herenda smiled too,

"They like you. They have never met anyone courteous enough to call them not as two but as one." Draco couldn't help but feel relieved. At least he'd made a good impression, "Anyway, you are right. The humans would treat them as though they are diseased and need to be cured, as is their nature." After a small pause, Herenda spoke again, "She thinks that it is they who need a cure if they think that."

After another minute's walk, they arrived at a comparment where the glass in the door was completely covered, obscuring anyone within. Herenda knocked, whispered, "_Let us pass._" in Elvish and the door opened, revealing Hari. He was in human form but with his hair smoothed back and his glasses tucked into his pocket, looking more like the Prince than Harry Potter. Like the Prince would, he was dressed extremely neatly, in a simple white shirt with a black waistcoat and trousers, looking like he was going to a casino rather than Hogwarts,

"Welcome." He said, smoothly, letting them all in. Draco was last. When he passed the threshold, an arm coiled around his waist, swung him around and released so he landed on the seat nearest the door. Hari sat elegantly beside him and smirked so beautifully that he was breathless and redfaced again,

"Stop it." Draco moaned, hiding his face,

"What?" Hari said, his smirk growing wider,

"Being so completely amazing."

A loud wolf-whistle brought him back to reality. Whirling round, he saw no one but Gallothia, Estelliel, Herenda and Marilla sitting opposite. He spotted the culprit when two barefooted legs hung over Marilla's head. Maederhwen was sitting actually on the luggage rack, grinning broadly at him, "Great reaction. And nice grab, Hari." She flashed him a wink. Draco's face flushed again, "So," She leaned back, her hands behind her back, seemingly unaware of the luggage rack straining beneath her, "when does this thing take off?"

A whistle from the train answered her question, "Oh, right about now then." She nodded, as though someone had answered her. A black cat appeared from between trunks as the train began to move. Elivor leapt onto Maederhwen's shoulders, flicking his tail back and forth, glaring at the dangerously shifting trunks. Draco was sure that Marilla's trunk would have surely crushed him had not escaped from them.

As the train began to move, Draco noticed that the blinds covering the window and the doors was a mystical sort of blue which reminded him of light stones used in the Prince's summer home. These semi-transparent sheets cast everything in a strange blue light that seemed to come straight from Valivial. He absently traced the patterns, clearly Elven, worked into the mesh. Laida; the lines that formed eyes at regular intervals and orderly tangles in between. Teldalya; the circled diamonds with tiny swirls within,

"I specially comissioned those." Hari said casually, seeing him looking, "The whole compartment is reserved for the Elves who wish to spend some time at Hogwarts. I felt these necessary. It looks ordinary from the outside but the door may only be opened by one who speaks the Elven tongue." He curled an arm around him and stroked the dark wool of Draco's sweater, "I felt these were needed. I like to have a little piece of home close to me at all times." The hand raised and twisted a lock of Draco's hair around his finger, "I cannot wear my family ring so I have to find other ways." Hari's lips brushed Draco's temple,

"As much as I like to watch your intimatacy," A drawling voice came from beyond Hari, "you ought to give a thought to your surroundings."

Looking around, slightly annoyed, he saw Noalith for the first time. He had been sitting so quietly that Draco hadn't noticed him since then. He was busy pouring over a book and wasn't even looking at them, "Go back to your books, Noalith." Hari spat,

"He has a point." Elivor's voice came from Maederhwen's shoulders, "With all due respect, your Majesty, we believe your actions are more suited to a more private room."

Hari's face darkened into a snarl but did not unleash Draco. Feeling an arguement coming, Draco quickly turned to the others, "Have any of your parents come to Hogwarts?"

"Ithil'orad hasn't." Maederhwen said, instantly, "But my mother has. Just my mother. My sister wouldn't come. Back then, the servants couldn't come so it was just the Queen of Valivial and my mother back in the day." She swung her legs casually, putting Marilla in danger of being kicked, "My mother, she was such a troublemaker if half her stories are to be believed!"

"So I heard." Hari nodded, "Though, your mother did not come to Hogwarts as herself like mine."

"Nah. She pretended to be a boy."

"Why?" Draco wondered,

"Dunno. It's been a family tradition until now. But when have I ever been one to follow tradition?"

Draco shook his head, grinning. In the time in Valivial, he had encountered more of Maederhwen and her incredibly rebellious attitude,

"I shall follow the tradition of _Niennas, _though." Elivor said, dignified, _Well, as dignified as cats can be, _"I shall stay by my wife always."

"I would not recommend that." Hari sighed, dryly, attracting a withering glare from Elivor,

"Whyever not? Do you not think, being Calasier Avamela, that the Tenets of Meleniel have no meaning?"

It was Hari's turn to give a withering glare, "Watch your tongue; Prince of Alqualond, you may be. I meant that you may suffer indignity at the hands of the teachers. Professors McGonagall and _Snape_," Draco noticed his voice double in venom when he said Snape's name, "like to use the students' pets for test subjects."

Maederhwen giggled, probably imagining Elivor being turned into a mouse or being covered with boils. Elivor's eyes widened, "I see." was all he could say. Maederhwen sniggered and Draco couldn't help but do the same. Hari peered over Noalith's shoulder,

"Noalith, I was under the impression that you were a first year."

"A little extra knowledge never hurt you." Draco then realised that the book Noalith was reading was _Advanced Potion-Making,_

"Anything interesting in there?" Draco asked because he couldn't think of anything better to say,

"Mildly." Noalith drawled, turning a page, "These potions are not as potent as Elven ones but I can not doubt that they have the potential." _To make a good bit of money,_ Draco thought, knowing Noalith's way of thinking, "Exactly." He smirked, glancing sideways at Draco,

"So," Draco leaned back, "what houses do you think you'll be in?"

"I have heard from Hari that you may choose." Noalith still refused to look up from his book, "However, I believe I will be best suited to Slytherin. If I want to play the Hat's game, of course."

"Gryffindor for me!" grinned Maederhwen, "Like my mother!"

"I will go wherever my mistress goes." Marilla nodded,

"All will I." Herenda added, "She is undecided but like the sound of Ravenclaw. Oh!" She sat up, as though just remembering something, "I have just remembered. Dementors are coming on the train!"

"Dementors?" Draco stared in shock, "What for?"

"To labour under the misapprehension that Black may try to break into Hogwarts." Noalith completed, in his calm drawl, taking all panic out of the situation, "I have an idea that may let our journey go undisturbed." He put down his book and began to pull things out of his trunk. Draco soon identified a cauldron and small jars of all sorts of things,

"A bit keen, aren't you?"

"I am experimenting with a combination of human alchemy and Drow magic." The potion he was making was already a fiery yellow and he was adding things so quickly, Draco couldn't identify how much he added before it disappeared beneath the surface. It was finished in a second and, when he was done, he picked up the cauldron and crossed to the door. With that, he pulled up the blind, dipped his fingers into it and his hand was a blur. The fingers flew through the air. It was only when he stopped did Draco see the symbol he had painted on the door. It was a Drow rune.

Unfortunately, he only knew a few of the runes and this was not one he knew. He didn't even have time to examine it. With a chanted spell, the symbol seemed to explode, sending the potion all over the glass, which stayed strangely intact.

When he performed the same ritual with all the glass and the walls of the compartment, he bottled the rest and sat back down, as though all he had done was open a window, "What was that?" Draco asked, after a long pause that meant Noalith wasn't going to tell them immediately,

"An experimentation. A warding ritual combined with a potion to cause euphoria. Since Dementors cause despair by sucking out happiness, this should be enough to ward it away. Like fire, it feeds you but approach too closely and you are burned."

"Will that really work?"

"I know not. Like I said, an experimentation."

* * *

A/N: Noalith certainly likes to ruin a romantic moment, doesn't he? Again, not my best. There will be some more action later!


	3. The Sorting

A/N: Argh, this took way too long! You'd think with it being half-term and all, I'd have more time. I just haven't been able to think straight and plus my Oblivion addiction is getting in the way. I might start an Oblivion fanfiction: the idea is coming to me.

**fudgebaby: **I'll always continue this story until the end so long as I have reviews like yours to support me.

**miss quirky bookworm: **Let me clear it up for you. Hari puts on the Harry Potter act when he's at Hogwarts so Ron and Hermione don't suspect a thing and they are his friends. Dumbledore knows about him since he is an _Elenshar_, a friend of the Elves. It's how he can let them come to Hogwarts. I mention it in_ Calasier Avamela_.

**EngelCre: **Really? I didn't think much of that chapter so I'm very flattered that you think that.

**evildictionaryninja: **Hari and Draco really can't get much quality time at Hogwarts, can they?

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 3: The Sorting**_

The Dementor came just as Herenda has predicted. The light disappeared from the corridor, though theirs stayed on. A good sign. Despite not feeling anything different except the shuddering of the train as it stopped, Draco still clung to Hari, who, in turn, became tense. Noalith still gave no indication that he had noticed anything and continued to read his book. Maederhwen tensed and stopped swinging her legs (which by that time had twice accidently kicked Marilla in the face). Elivor too stopped moving and eyed the door.

The twins both turned their heads to the door in time to see a hooded figure glide into view. Still, no hint of impending despair touched them. The figure, which had moved so smoothly before, hesistated before the door Noalith had enchanted. It seemed unsure of whether to proceed. Whenever it moved forward, it flinched back, as though it felt it was too close,

"Conflicted." Noalith said, still showing no signs that he had noticed it, "It does not know whether to proceed, gain what it craves and becomes hurt or to stay away and never feel it again." He turned a page, his eyes fixed on the page, not quite fixated by it, _Probably read it before, _"Right again, Draco."

Draco felt something smooth touch his side. Looking down, he saw Bellime, Hari's sword, being drawn from under the seat. Hari was glaring at the Dementor with the same challenging look in his posture he gave before duelling. Knowing what the Dementor could do and how vulnerable Hari would be, he laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a warning look. After two seconds, Hari lowered himself and Bellime disappeared from view again.

A sudden short shriek made them all jump (except Noalith, of course, who only looked up from his book). The Dementor seemed to have touched the door, which was glowing an angry sort of orange. The exact same colour as a glowing burn on the thing's wasted hand. Finally making up its mind, it glided away, leaving the lights from the corridor to flicker back on.

Once the danger had passed, Noalith returned to his book and the journey progressed as normal. Marilla went out to gather information on what happened to other students on Maederhwen's orders, "Want to get an idea what these things are like. We weren't affected because Noalith had that potion prepared. We need to know what we're in for if one of those things takes us unawares."

At her words, Noalith put down his book and reached for the still-bottled potion. With that, he dipped his fingers in it again and began painting the symbol of warding upon each of their foreheads. When he spoke the incantation, a sudden flood of warmth, as though lukewarm water had been poured upon their heads, spread through them from the head and worked down through their whole body, right to the tips of their fingers and toes. This lasted for about two seconds and faded, leaving a sense of security and fortitude behind.

* * *

When it came to change into their robes, everyone was surprisingly unperturbed by getting changed together, especially the twins. Draco supposed that they were probably so used to naked bodies from statues or real life that it did not bother them. One could not go a thousand years without coming across nakeness before. Thus, the doors were not opened until the train had come to a halt.

Over the journey, Maederhwen had developed a strong cockney accent, using a lot of unintelligable rhyming slang. When asked, she said in her normal (now sounding very posh by comparison) voice, "My mother did the same. It's a gimick of our family when we go to Hogwarts. Plus, it really throws any potential assasins off our scent."

Draco was about to open his mouth to say the likelihood of assasins appearing were extremely remote and then held his tongue, remembering how many time Hari had faced death even at Hogwarts. He also realised that the assasins would logically think now was the best time to attack since they were in human form and were vulnerable. The rain hammered down outside and Noalith pulled out his cloak, prompting the others to do the same, "Why no one else but us thinks of this idea is beyond me." He muttered, loud enough for the others to hear.

As soon as they were cloaked (Noalith pulled his hood completely over his head so nothing of his face was visible, which Draco was very accustomed to seeing of him), they stepped out into the rain. Hari was by his side in an instant and took his arm, leading him away from the others, who were pushing their way through the crowd with incredily ease towards Hagrid.

Hari too moved fluidly through the crowd and they were out of the mass in an instant, "How did you do that?"

"Naturally." Hari said, with a small smirk, "Our strength is far superior to that of humans. There is no chance of us being pushed where we do not want to be." Draco noticed the plural; he would not call himself a full elf but he had certainly become more Elven from his time in Valivial, "Come." Hari beckoned imperiously, looking every bit of a prince even when shrouded by the ill-fitting cloak.

The carriages loomed ahead. No one was there yet and Draco had no idea how they managed to get there before everyone else. Hari headed purposefully towards a carriage right in front of them...and two things made Draco stop dead. One; there was a shrouded, ominous-looking figure was sitting in the normally absent driver's seat and that was not the only thing strangely occupied. For, in front of the carriage, was a skeletal, wasted winged creature, _A horse or a dragon? _It was too small to be a dragon and yet he could never call it a horse. Horses could never look so...dead. The stretched black skin over the bones reminded him of the Drow drones and the blind white eyes of something he had encountered on a hunt with Deriyor. Something that had been long dead and brought back to life as a walking corpse...

"What is it, Draco?" Hari had already reached the carriage, having bypassed the things without a backward glance,

"What are those things?" Draco pointed at them, now realising that every carriage was being pulled by one of these ghastly things. Hari glanced at the creatures, bemused, "What are they doing here?"

Draco's disturbed reverie was broken by Hari's sudden laughter. Shocked, he turned in time to see him wrap his arms around Draco, laughing musically, "Oh, bless your innocent ignorance, Draco! I had forgot that you had not seen these creatures before."

"Seen them?"

"But, of course! They were here all the time." Hari was now guiding Draco towards them before he could protest, "Only invisible to the eye that has not seen death. It is their birth nature. I have always been able to see them and am so used to it that I barely gave a thought to you. Do forgive me." They were now at the carriage and the creatures had not moved or made a sound, "They shall not harm us. They have not harmed you before."

"Are you saying," Draco's mind was reeling, "that they were here but I couldn't see them?"

"Quite right." He pushed Draco into the dark carriage and climbed in himself, _How can he keep the Elven grace while in human form?_ Hari tapped the wall of the carriage behind him, "Drive on."

A hatch opened and a pair of pale eyes appeared, "I sincerly hope you were joking because I will not tolerate being talked to like I am your inferior."

"Noalith!" Draco gasped, "What are you doing here?"

"A fair point." Hari nodded, "What _are_ you doing here, Noalith? You are meant to be with Hagrid."

"I am _not_ taking a boat trip in this weather." Noalith said, simply, giving no opportunity for questioning, "I am also not one for tradition, as you know."

"Why are you out there then?"

"I feel rather an affinity with these creatures. I believe I should be a little closer to them."

The hatch closed and so did the conversation. Hari pulled down the blind of the carriage windows so they were now sitting in complete blackness. A flame sparked and a small light pale blue globe illuminated before them. Hari pulled Draco closer and pressed his lips to his blond temple, "_Now we are alone._" He took a firm hold of Draco's chin, turned it to face him and pushed his lips straight into the other.

It took Draco perhaps half a second to realise what was happening. Not just by the presence of his lips but by his heart doubling in speed. He relaxed into it, taking both Hari's cheeks and letting himself fall back on the seat so Hari was sprawled over him. He gasped as Hari broke free suddenly. The solution to why came in Hari's face lowering out of sight to his pale neck.

Like the most gentle vampire imagineable, his soft, silken lips brushed against the skin of his neck. Draco closed his eyes, smiling with pleasure, and moved his arms around Hari's back, tracing every jutting bone in his back. His legs rose to secure Hari's body in place on top of him, where he belonged. He didn't quite know how his chest had become bare but he realised as soon as Hari's cold hands were roaming it,

"_My Draco..._" he whispered, in the smooth Elven tongue, making the words sound twice as romantic. They barely noticed that the carriage had begun to move, "_...oh, my Draco. A day apart from our last meeting. No, say it is not so soon. Every moment I am away from you seems to me as an age..._" And so the steady, luxurious stream of sweet nothings continued and Draco simply lay back to allow it to wash over him. He knew how romantic Hari could be and loved every second of it. It was his little bit of heaven while in the dreary human world.

The movement of the coach never bothered them. They were secure where they are, the outside world fading. Draco forgot he was on his way to Hogwarts and, instead, his memory built up the picture of Hari's summer home at night, when the moon shone through the blinds and he and Hari were in bed together. Completely private. Completely intimate.

They barely noticed the Dementors passing. The potion had worked perfectly and they were undisturbed. Hari was kissing his skin, just above his heart. Or where his heart used to be. One of the more astonishing things he had discovered about elves was that their hearts were on the right side of their bodies rather than their left, like humans. Out of curiousity (though it was at the very back of his mind at that point), he moved one of his hands from his side and felt Hari's chest. Nothing. He tried the left side and, sure enough, he felt the beating of his heart,

"_Our bodies may be that of a human,_" Hari whispered, his eyes gleaming as he carressed Draco's face with one finger,"_but we keep our elven minds...and desires..._" His lips pressed against Draco again, pushing deeper and deeper...

A loud, insensitive knock brought them back roughly to the present. Noalith had pushed back the hatch again, "At it again? You just _cannot _seem to gain privacy for long enough, can you? Anyway," He added, just as Hari scowled, "we have arrived. It was perhaps a good thing that I accompanied you. You would have been caught by someone else unsavoury otherwise and you know that your relationship must be kept secret."

Draco felt as though someone had jammed something sharp in his heart. Of course; no one knew about Hari and Draco's relationship. They were enemies, rivals, at Hogwarts. How many times had he insulted Hari over the years? How many times had he declared how much he hated him, private and otherwise? He felt his face growing hot. Hari put a hand on his shoulder, which moved down his chest to the crystal-encased golden flower hanging on its chain,

"I know your heart, Draco. We shall insult our images in the eyes of others and love our souls when no eyes look upon us."

"Speaking of image," Draco added, "you'd better make yourself look more like Harry Potter and less like a Prince."

Most reluctantly, Hari ruffled his hair into Harry Potter's trademark untidy look and pulled on the round, ill-befitting glasses from his pocket. Then, he did something strange. He moved his hand over his face once and, without any indication how, it changed. It darkened to an ordinary-looking colour, which looked very tanned compared to the Prince's heavenly pallor.

Hari moved to open the door but Draco still didn't want him to go. He took his arms without thinking. Hari looked round, gave an understanding sort of smile and swooped down upon him again. The kiss was much briefer than the ones they had shared during the journey but certainly more intense. Or perhaps it was the thought that they would be parted again that made it seem that way.

When they parted, Hari put his lips close to Draco's ear, "After the feast, I shall come to you." With that, he had disappeared through the door, leaving Draco sitting there with his chest bared and frozen in place. It was only when Noalith gave him a good poke in the ribs did he think to move himself. He quickly covered his chest, touching his crystal pendant for a second, before leaping out of the carriage. Smoothing his hair back awkwardly (it had become rather messy in their short intimate time), he walked like a zombie through the castle doors.

When he reached the Great Hall, he spotted Hari with Weasley and Granger, now Harry Potter and not his Prince. He couldn't help but feel his heart break again as he moved in the opposite direction towards the Slytherins. This was going to be a long night, he could see it. He would have to pretend to share their views on Muggle-borns and Gryffindors, all the while wishing his Prince could be with them. He was worth ten of the Slytherin table any day. He barely noticed that Noalith had disappeared.

Grudgingly, he sat at the table, on the side facing the rest of the tables. He was further away from his Prince but at least he could look at him. But, still, very little of the Prince shone through past that awkward Harry Potter mask. It was a credit to how good the Prince was at acting that even Draco, who had been so close to him for the past eight or nine years (he wasn't too aware of time anymore, Elven or human), could not see a bit of his Prince left in the dreadfully plain-looking face. He tried to concentrate on his eyes, the same green as the Prince's, but he was too far away to get a good look. Even the bright beauty of those bright green orbs was clouded by the facade...

"Draco! DRACO!"

A hand was waving in front of his face, obscuring his view of who was once the Prince. It irritated him. Though it was not the Prince, he still longed to gaze upon him, hoping that in time the Prince would come through. Scowling, he turned to the person attached to that hand, "Stop it."

"What?" Blaise raised an eyebrow and scowled back, "Draco, what _is _wrong with you?"

"Yes." Theodore leaned over, his searching eyes like Noalith's but, unlike Noalith, he did not find anything, "What has been the matter with you lately? First you disappear to some trip we barely know about, then you toss Pansy aside and now you vanish without a trace on the train - _Draco, for crying out loud!_" He grabbed Draco's arm and shook him as he tried to return watching the Prince.

He then did the strangest thing. He actually flinched back as though stung, staring at him with shock. Draco frowned, confused as to why he would react like that. After a while, Theodore spoke, "You're cold, Draco."

"I know." He nodded, "It's freezing out there."

"You have a cloak." He nodded to it, "Yet, you feel stone cold."

It was perhaps fortunate that the doors opened at that point, allowing Professor McGonagall with the line of first-years came in. In the time the Prince was obscured, Draco picked out Gallothia and Estelliel (who were still holding hands and walking side by side despite the fact that all other students were in single file) walking near the front with Herenda tagging along behind. Maederhwen was around the middle, Elivor sitting on her shoulders around her neck, along with Marilla, who caught his eye for a brief, encouraging period. Noalith lurked around the back, glaring around at everyone with his pale, all-seeing eyes.

Thankfully, the first years were not so many that they obscured the Prince when they had stopped so he spent the happy moment when the Sorting Hat sang its opening song gazing lovingly at him. Then, as the names began to be called, his mind subconsciously picked up the names he knew were the aliases of the elves,

"Ashford, Estella."

Most reluctantly, the twins seperated and one strode to the stool. They were dressed impeccably in their robes and were wearing little feathery black hats, the like of which Draco saw ladies wear at funerals. The twin graciously took off her hat put on the Sorting Hat, now looking even more shabby in comparison. Within a few moments of silence, the Hat called,

"Ravenclaw!"

The table applauded but she stayed standing near her twin. As though Maederhwen could hear their thoughts as well, she and Marilla moved to the side a little to block her from view of McGonagall. This worked and McGonagall called,

"Ashford, Galatea."

The other twin moved to the stool. The hat had barely touched her head when it cried,

"Ravenclaw!"

Another round of applause from the Ravenclaw table. The twins met, joined hands and sat down in unison,

"Lithin, Noah."

He didn't need the sight of Noalith stepping out of line to know who had adopted that alias. He didn't know Noalith's surname and neither did he. He remember what he had said when Draco asked, "_I do not know and I do not care to know._" Noalith walked with a confidence that looked so out of place. In fact, everything about him looked out of place. His ponytail, his glaring eyes and, Draco noticed with a jolt, glistening metal earrings set into the top of his ears. McGonagall couldn't help to glare at him for a moment before Noalith placed the hat upon his head in a dignified sort of way,

"Slytherin!"

Draco joined in the applause as Noalith swept from the stool and took a seat about three feet from Draco,

"Newland, Madeline."

He watched as Maederhwen hopped up the the stool. McGonagall glared disapprovingly at Elivor round her shoulders, her scruffy hair (which she had magically turned silvery blonde since she had married Elivor) and her bare feet,

"Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted into applause as Maederhwen took a seat near Fred and George,

"Russell, Marilyn."

Marilla strode up to the stool. She too took very little time to be sorted,

"Gryffindor!"

Again, the Gryffindor table raucously applauded as Marilla took a seat next to Maederhwen, who was beaming at her,

"Thomas, Heidi."

"Ravenclaw!"

The rest of the feast passed without incident. Draco managed to avoid more of Theodore's uncomfortably probing questions by pushing as much food as he could into his mouth. He knew he would not be able to get to sleep that night but he didn't need to.

* * *

Unbeknowst to Draco, Theodore had been requested to keep an eye on him by Lucius Malfoy. Mr Malfoy had appeared to suspect something of his son and had charged Theodore, the most observant and suspicious Slytherin he knew, to spy on him. Theodore had taken this task to heart and, as a result, stayed awake until midnight every night.

This task, though seemingly unreasonable, proved to yield some very interesting results. All through the first week, Draco seemed to be waiting for something. He lay in bed, restless, staring at the door, becoming increasingly upset when nothing happened. In addition, for every night Draco waited for nothing, he received a white flower in the post the next morning. It was nothing Theodore recognised. It was tall and thin but with layers of petals, not unlike a rose, and a smattering of red smudges around the edges of the petals.

These gifts were placed in a small glass jar on Draco's bedside table, growing in number with every night. Finally, on Friday night, something happened.

He was keeping watch on Draco, his eyes itching from lack of sleep. The number of those strange flowers had reached four and they seemed to glow luminously in the dim light. Just as he was about to give up and begin to plan the letter he would send to Mr Malfoy about this, the door swung open.

The one who entered astonished him into wide-eyed motionlessness. The stranger was a dark-haired boy-or was he a boy? In physical appearance, he could have been around Theodore's age but he gave off the aura of someone much older. His hair was smoothed back, lightly dusting his shoulders, and his dark clothing was impeccable. The eyes were bright green; though they shone brightly, they seemed cold and daunting. The most striking thing about him was his skin. It was deathly white, white as snow and, like the flowers, seemed to glow faintly in the half-light.

He paid the others no mind but headed straight for Draco's bed,

"Go away." Draco's voice snapped, sounding angry, "I hate you."

"Draco," The stranger purred, at once pentinent, "forgive me. I had arrangements that I had not foreseen to make. I swear that every time I break a promise, I shall send you a Pentel Rose."

"Yeah, that's a good idea." Draco snarled, "We can keep a track of how many times you break your promises now."

"Those will have wilted by the time I break my word to you again." The stranger lit a candle beside Draco's bed and sat down upon it. Now, the two of them were silhouettes against the hangings, "Now, come away with me, Draco. I shall make amends double."

There was a moment of silence but the silhouettes remained. The stranger was leaning towards Draco then their shadows joined. It was unclear what was happening but the shadows were gradually becoming one. They remained like this for several minutes in silence, slowly lowering so they were reclining together, _What is going on?_ Theodore thought, as he stared aghast, _Who is that man?_ The first thought that flashed through his head was that he was not human. No human could be so pale or could be so exquisitely handsome. Then, the idea of vampires flitted into his mind. The man had appeared to reach Draco's neck with his lips.

Then, just as these ideas were forming, there was movement. The stranger had lifted a limp Draco in his arms and was carrying him from the room with a confident stride that suggested he was not encumbered by Draco's weight, _How on earth am I going to tell his father about this?_

* * *

A/N: Finally, a love scene! How was that?


	4. The Elenshar

A/N: Another struggle of a chapter. But I'm glad to say that there'll be some good action next time!

**miss quirky bookworm**: Thanks for your review!

**EngelCre: **Great to hear. I always think that my romance scenes leave more to be desired.

**Someone you probaly don't know: **Well, I think it's only polite that I should reply. Don't worry, you'll get your action soon enough!

**evildictionaryninja:** Yeah, I imagine Lucius to be the sort of parent that pries too much into his son's activities.

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 4: The Elenshar**_

_The beginning of my first Potions lesson and, already, I'm bored,_ Noalith thought. Snape's introductory speech was unnecessary and tedious, an underhanded trick to scare children into obedience. Not that he expected much from the lessons that he had not already learned. He merely contented himself with perusing Snape's mind. It was protected by an Occlumency but it did nothing against the Rinatula, _Legilimency and Occlumency; pale imitations!_

Snape's was a very interesting mind. He always had another secret to discover. His love for Harry's mother, his conflicting feelings for Harry, his spy duty even when Voldemort was gone...he found himself tuning out to exterior sounds and turned to the man's thoughts, _So, he is prejudiced against Gryffindors because of James Potter's gang tormenting him. Who knew King Jaurion was just as much of an idiot as Hari told me? And...ah, I see. He unwittingly gave away the information that would drive Voldemort to come after them, the very information that drove them into hiding. Of course, he believes her dead. How sad, a love that went unrequited forever. Hari and he have more in common than they realise...Oh, wait, he has noticed me. He is about to ask me,_

"Am I boring you, Lithin?"

"Not at all." Noah smiled, coming sharply back to the present though not unpleasantly, "In fact, I find you very interesting, Professor." _But, not in the way he thinks,_

"Then, repeat what I have just said,_ Mr Lithin_."

That, even if he hadn't listened, was too easy for Noalith. The correct answer presented itself at the forefront of Snape..._but I can give that later. Let us see if he will react as amusingly to rudeness as my University Professors, _"Then, repeat what I have just said, _Mr Lithin_." He added the emphasis, just for extra effect. The whole class went silent. Except for the Princess of Alqualond who shot him an admiring grin. Snape looked murderous: his thoughts speaking louder than before, _He is obviously one to repress feelings._ He could hear his thoughts loud and clear,

_'How dare he, how dare he be rude to me! He is just like James Potter; no respect for what I am! Just like Potter's son too!'_ He tuned himself out. The man was admirable, he agreed, but he praised himself too much. It was an early lesson of training in the art of war to be humble of your achievements. Any audible boasting was met with half a dozen lashes on the chest and made to walk around with no upper garments but the bandages. A brutal but effective humiliation.

Snape glared down his ample nose at Noalith, who returned nothing but a calm, mildly interested stare, as though he was a mildly interesting demonstration of something he had already seen before. The glare the other gave him would frighten the wits out of an ordinary first year...but it would do nothing against a Warg. He almost smiled as he thought of Snape having a staring contest with a Warg. How long would it last before the Warg got impatient and ripped him to pieces?

"Tell me, Lithin," Snape's voice broke his careless stream of thought, "what would I get if I added powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_Oh, really. This is what he asked Hari. I do not even need to read his mind, _"A sleeping potion so powerful, it is known as the Draught of Living Death." Noalith answered, promptly. Snape looked thrown, _No surprise. This is only barely mentioned in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. He did not expect me to answer,_

"Very well. Where would you look if I told you to find a bezeor?"

_Again, barely mentioned. They must work many times if he uses only these questions, _"In the stomach of a goat. In addition, it is a stone that will save you from most poisons. Simply push it down their throat and they are cured." He added the latter part because he could see Snape about to demand it of him. Snape looked stricken. His mind was in turmoil. He was secretly impressed by Noalith's knowledge but suspicious, as was his nature. He could see him pointlessly reinforcing his Occlumency shields,

"Impressive. Then, perhaps you can tell me what is the difference between monkshood and wolfbane."  
_This is meant to be the hardest of all. Not only one that has only the briefest of mentions in the set books but a leading question, _Still, it was not unanswerable, "Nothing. It is also known as aconite."

There was a silence for a moment. Noalith was suddenly aware of his audience. All the class, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike were staring at him in utter disbelief. Snape showed no outward signs of shock but his mind within was a raging whirl of confusion. There had been no first year but him who had answered all of those questions correctly. Plus, he had provided extra knowledge. Any other teacher would have praised him without holding back but Snape, he was suspicious of Noalith's very complete knowledge, _As he should be. Finally, a worthy adversary._

Eventually, Snape turned around without another word and began to write instructions for a wart-curing potion on the board. Noalith, however, smirked with triumph. As he stood up, he found himself alone since there were an odd number of students. This suited him however, as he found accomplices irksome and meddling. He picked out a few other ingredients than Snape had suggested; he knew several alternative methods that were quicker and more potent, even with human materials. He got his cauldron ready and set to work.

His hands flew from ingredient to ingredient, getting into his fast-paced potion-making mode. The others around him faded as he instinctively mixed the correct materials at the right time. That is what it was to him now; mere instinct. He was a seasoned potionmaker, being the owner of an apothecary, and it was part of the course to experiment at the Alqualond University.

In half the time it took the others, Noalith had finished. Snape had not noticed yet so Noalith contented himself with corking a bottle for him to test (and putting the rest in a phial for later, naturally) and began to test the ingredients he had left, _I would wager that experimenting with human herbs will gain me some extra marks in my coursework. _Getting out a quill and parchment, he slowly began to throw pinches of crushed snake fangs into the fire beneath. The powder fizzed a bright, poisonous green colour like a firework and remained suspended in the air for quite some time. Noalith made quick notes as the sparks fizzled out, _Fascinating, _he also noted,_ As I know, the snakes in Lindaria produce blue sparks. I must look further into this as to why. A speculation is that all Lindarian snakes are poisonous and yet some in this world are not. More study is needed upon this matter._

He had to hide his notes since Snape was coming his way, having seen the sparks, "Is there a problem, Mr Lithin? What was that spectacle?"

"An experimentation." There was no need to lie completely. The man would never fully comprehend him, "Nothing more else to do while I wait until next lesson." He pointed his quill to his finished potion. Snape looked from it to Noalith in rapid succession,

"Are you suggesting me to believe that you have finished this potion in only half an hour when I specifically informed you would take you the whole hour to make?" His mind did not believe it. He thought Noalith was trying to fool him in some way, _Unless he learns to be a little more trusting, he'll never get anywhere in life,_

"Test it for yourself, if you do not believe me." Noalith returned his usual mildly-interested stare to the glare he received,

"Yeah," came a harshly cockney voice that could only belong to the Princess of Alqualond, "toss it down your Nanny and we'll have a Butcher's at the result."

"She says to drink it yourself," Noalith said, without prompt, as he could see Snape's mind becoming confused, "and we will soon see if I'm right."

Snape's lip curled up in a snarl, "Lithin, Newland,"

_He is surprisingly more easily angered than Hari,_

"you will both see me after the lesson."

_And doubly suicidal._

It was with a heavy heart that Noalith went to dinner after the lesson. He had managed to slip out in time and doubted Snape would notice him gone. He spotted Draco and headed straight for his direction. He was alone or Draco thought he was. His tail, Theodore, was right behind him, about ten yards back. He rolled his eyes, _If you must spy for Lucius, you might have least asked to be paid. Do you actually enjoy spying on your friends? _Not that Lucius was entirely without reason. In the letters Noalith duelly intercepted, he found that Theodore had found too much. He had spotted Hari taking Draco for a night out and even tried to follow them. None of this reached Lucius, of course. Just carefully edited forgeries by Noalith.

Noalith moved in front of Draco, blocking his way and, without prompt, said, "Draco, we have lost the bet."

It took Draco a few seconds to realise, "Damn! Didn't Marilyn stop her?"

"No chance. Snape told her he wanted to see Madeline alone."

"Is that man suicidal or what?" Draco shook his head and then sighed, "Well, better go and pay up. He'll find out sooner or later."

In the opening week of school, Hari, Draco and Noalith had taken bets on when Maederhwen would beat Snape to a bloody pulp. Draco had bet that he would last a fortnight, Noalith ten days and Hari less than a week. Now, both of them owed Hari ten Galleons. Noalith chanced a glance over his shoulder as they turned a corner,

"Your tail is still there."

Draco rolled his eyes, "He never gives up. Is he expecting me to turn into something any minute?"

"Perhaps." Noalith smiled to himself, "He thinks Hari is a vampire and may turn you soon."

Shaking his head, he groaned, "He's not very original, is he?"

* * *

Herenda saw the the boys pass by, _Must be about that bet they had. The Prince of Valivial must have won by the looks on their faces. But, really, the Prince of Valivial gambling! I would have never thought of it! Must be that Nimohtar. Even if he is a Nimohtar, he breeds bad feeling and corruption._ She shook her head and turned back to the twins, _What do you think?_

_He is nothing like the Nimohtars in Ithil'orad, _They agreed, _They say the Nimohtars of Lindaria act as underground spies._

_He certainly seems like a spy,_ Herenda nodded. She did not like talking about Noalith and it seemed that neither did the twins, as conversation on that topic ceased. They walked for a while in silence. Even with their telepathic connection, the twins were not one to fill every silence. To them, anyone but themselves were as distant as stars and Herenda, though able to hear their voices in her head, was no closer. She was still an outsider to them, sometime let in to their little world for short visits.

Still, she could sense they were happy this way and, if they were happy, she was happy.

This wasn't so for long, however. As they came down to the second floor, their minds rocketed into confusion and outrage. Even becoming distraught. Shocked at this sudden, extreme reaction, Herenda glanced around. Nothing was out of the ordinary though and, still, the twins became increasingly upset, _What is it? What is happening?_

_It is them!_ they cried, sounding as distraught as they felt, _Look there! They still are seperated!_

Herenda scanned the crowd more carefully. Next to her, the twins were stifling their faces with handkerchieves, tears streaming down their face, the little blue bows atop their heads aquiver with distress. Herenda, completely bewildered and becoming rather stressed herself by the sight of the twins showing such outward emotion, had to search the mass twice to locate the source.

The Patil twins, whom she knew were in the Prince of Valivial's year, were walking in seperate directions down the corridor, each with their own gaggle of friends. They chatted happily, unknowing of the distress they were causing. It even took Herenda a few seconds to realise why it would agitate the twins so much.

Elven twins were actually born in each other's arms while human twins were born seperately. Elves generally treated twins as though they were one person while humans treated them as individuals. Elven twins had a spiritual bond where they felt contentment in each other's presence and pain when they were seperated. Humans did not have that. It was easy for them to be individuals. For Elves, it was impossible and terrible to even attempt.

To Gallothia and Estelliel, who were so close even for Elves, the idea of being seperated was horrific. They had even been seperated once. One of them (Gallothia, maybe) was kidnapped for reasons she did not know. Estelliel was unconsolable. She screamed until her voice failed her (Herenda remembered that terrible sound so well, like a ghost wailing). She tore at her face and arms, her mind a frenzy of torment and the feeling as though she had been rent in two. Undoubtably, the other twin had felt the same. She was found fairly quickly since she was making so much noise and they both rejoiced to be in one another's arms once more,

_Perhaps seeing these human twins seperated brings back bad memories. _Herenda tried to seperate their thoughts and managed to hear their voices,

_How awful!_

_How can they bare it?_

_What cruelty to seperate them!_

_How long has it been since they were seperated?_

_So long they cannot feel it anymore!_

_Oh, how horrible!_

Herenda suddenly realised what they were suggesting. They were suggesting that someone had deliberately seperated them for so long that their bond was broken irrepairably. Herenda had heard of such events in the long past. It took a whole century for the bond to break completely and both twins became Soulless. The Ancient Lore had used that word to describe how utterly unresponsive and lifeless. There were a few instances in which the twins had recovered, living individual lives, having completely forgotten their life before. Once, they had encountered one another but neither could see or hear the other. But that was possible only twice and Herenda could never imagine Gallothia and Estelliel becoming like that.

Indeed, the twins had sworn her to secrecy when she found out that they had suffered from nightmares after hearing those stories after being temporarily seperated. The very idea of living on without each other was unbearable to them. Herenda had to agree; even if they did recover, the cost would be too high. Then, before she could explain it to them, the twins had begun to run in opposite direction, each towards a Patil twin,

_Come back here! Wait! I need to explain something to you!_

No answer came. They showed no sign that they heard her. They came into view again, each dragging a Patil twin, _Oh, how am I going to explain this? _They reached the centre of the corridor and pushed the twins together. Gallothia and Estelliel then joined hands and backed away a little to see their reaction. Parvati and Padma looked utterly bewildered, staring at the other pair of twins as though they thought them mad (and they probably did).

Herenda sighed, "Come on, you two. Let's get to dinner." With that, she tugged them away from the scene, _You cannot do that. Human twins are not the same as elves._ She could uncomfortably feel stares of not just the Patil twins but their friends who had come to see what had happened. Gallothia and Estelliel turned to look at her quizically,

_Why are you so anxious?_

_This will not have any effect! People will doubt your sanity!  
_

_We are doubting theirs. How can they bare to have these poor girls seperated?_

Herenda then realised with regret that she had never explained the whole human twins topic thoroughly, _Let me explain..._

* * *

Luna ignored the usual mutterings about her when she sat down at the Ravenclaw table. She didn't much care about the narrow-minded public, they were ill-informed and didn't want to know so what was the point of bothering them? Today, she was even more distracted than usual. She had dropped her latest copy of the Quibbler but she would not look for it. She was waiting for it to be returned, for she knew it would be. She had seen him pick it up.

She fiddled with her earrings as she waited patiently. There was no point being impatient for he wasn't one to rush. Neither was she. She spotted Draco Malfoy sit down, apart from the friends he had drifted from since the beginning of the year, _Maybe he found better friends. That would be good for him. _She was happy for him. Whomever those friends may be, they would be better than them, she was sure of it.

At last, her patience was repaid. Looking up from her food, she saw him striding up between the tables with the Quibbler in hand. She stood, ignoring the people who stared. He reached her and stopped, searching her with his eyes, _If only they were gold, he would be just like an eagle._ She thought. As though this thought had offended him, a slight shadow flitted over his face. He held out the Quibbler, "I believe this is yours."

"So it is. Thank you." Luna accepted the magazine with a smile, "Did you like it?"

"Well, I must admit that it is the only original-thinking magazine I have read in this place. The ideas may seem improbable to an untrained eye but I see potential to be true in them. If that is all you wish to discuss with me, I shall take my leave of you."

Ponytail swinging, he walked away. The conversation had not lasted as long as she had hoped but the main thing was that he had talked to her. He had actually acknowledged her existance instead of walking away. He had been just as open-minded and accepting to change as she had hoped. She sat down, a broad smile on her face that made people around her stare, _I always knew he was different from the rest of the Slytherins ever since his Sorting. Everything about him is different and so interesting! He's clever, mature, open-minded and a loner. He's almost exactly like me! And I know he sees more than anyone else. He knows more than he's saying. He hides his real name. I really do have the strong feeling that it's a false name. Sometimes, I think he can read my mind. Oh, if only I could read his! There must be so much there. _Her excited thoughts spiralled into happy fantasies.

She imagined meeting him again and again and he would tell her all the fascinating truth. That he was from a far-off, remote land or perhaps in hiding. That he trusted her enough to tell her everything and..._Oh, who knows? He might even want to be my friend! _The intensity of her smile was seriously alarming those around her, more so than usual, as it slowly brightened for no apparent reason.

Still with these happy imaginings in her head, she opened the Quibbler in a rare moment of self-consciousness. He could be watching, after all, and disapprove of these wild thoughts. A little scrap of parchment fluttered out from the front page. Bending to retrieve it, she struggled to remember when she had put it there. All became clear, however, when she saw that it was not her handwriting but a clear, thin script. Near the top were various strange symbols like runes but with more curved edges and flourishes. Below the small line of this was a word in English:

_Noalith_

Her mind knew immediately what this was. This was a message from him! _It must be his true name! It sounds like the false one; that was where it derives!_ The people around her were even more alarmed when Luna gave a estatic little giggle, stood up and twirled happily out of the room.

* * *

The month passed in a haze of happiness for Luna. The happiest part was when she went into the library to study the runes again (she had absolutely no luck translating them) and found _Noalith_ (she loved that name) sitting at the table in the Rune section, an inviting chair opposite him, "Ah," He looked up from a long scroll he was writing, "here again, are we? You will not find what you seek here."

"And, why not?" Luna sat down without invitation and gazed at him avidly,

"Because those writers have never seen that script before."

Luna smiled, serenely, _At last, we're having a conversation!_ Noalith stared without seeming to blink upon her face, "You seem quite fascinated with me. Or, perhaps _smitten_ is the better word for it."

"You're just so interesting." Luna smiled, twisting a lock of her hair shyly. She had recently taken to wearing her hair like he did: a high ponytail with a lovelock down the middle of the face and a lock on each side to frame the visage. Her hair had not cooperated like his though and only served to get in the way with the loose locks blew in her face in the wind, "You're too clever and mature for a normal first-year. You read books meant for seventh years. You speak in an old-fashioned way and, the way you speak, it's like you read people's minds. You don't seem like other Slytherins at all."

A sneer appeared on Noalith's face, "Like other Slytherins? I had the impression that Slytherin was merely a house at school, part of a token economy that ensures order. Slytherin is not a race, nor a social group or a cult. It is merely an outdated belief passed down through a millenia simply because of the eponymous founder."

"Of course." Luna nodded, impressed by his reasoning, "I meant that you don't act like the general public expected to you as a Slytherin."

"Not including yourself." He finished for her. She nodded again, smiling,

"I'm happy to accept change. Especially nice change."

Noalith nodded, "In my homeland, we have a saying: 'All Change is fathered by Fate thus that father will always turn his wicked children to good and his good children to wickedness'."

"That's a good saying." Luna said, smiling,

"I see you comprehend it. Quite a rare thing. Ordinarily, it would take others hours to decipher and accept it. Many would have debated its reasoning and value."

"Yes, I suppose." Luna nodded, the arguements coming to her, "Like if someone you loved died and you couldn't see how it could turn to good. Then, you realise the day you have come that it would have been better that they had died the way they did or they didn't live to see something worse happen."

Noalith looked quite impressed by her reasoning, "You would know this, of course. You are a very deep-thinking girl no matter what others may think of you."

"Thank you." Luna beamed then, on an impulse, she went on, "My mother died when I was nine and, at the time, I couldn't see any way of moving forward. I thought nothing good would ever happen again. And then, I realised that I still had Dad and it's not as if I would never see her again. I'm that much stronger by seeing her die and I can take bad things better than other people can. So, I suppose there was some good in it, even if it was a tragedy."

Noalith had now put down his quill and was looking at her intently, "Well reasoned." was all he said. And it was all Luna needed,

"What else do they say in your homeland?"

* * *

_Schack...schack...schack...clatter..._

"_Oh, hell_!" Hari growled,

"_Third time today_!" crowed the Princess of Alqualond, "_You're getting worse_!"

Trying to maintain some of his dignity, he reached down and picked up Bellime from the floor again. He had not been clumsy at all. No matter how hard he gripped the sword, it kept slipping from his grasp some way or another. It was irritating even without people watching. Princess Maederhwen and Herenda was the worst, picking up on his every error (but at least Herenda didn't gloat),

"_One would almost think Bellime had betrayed you_!" The Princess grinned, her childish face suddenly wicked,

"_Nonsense_!" Hari snapped, "_Bellime is always faithful_!" With that, he proceded to hack at the training figurine with more fervour as if it had been the one who insulted him. A little too much fervour. Again, Bellime went clattered to the floor, this time spinning across the stone floor of the Room of Requirement right to the Princess's bare feet,

"_You see? She's trying to run away!_"

Hari picked up Bellime without dignifying her comment with a response. This was perhaps lucky since the Emergency Portal to Ariador flared open at that point. A messanger appeared baring a bound scroll, "_Your Majesties._" She bowed low and turned to Hari, "_A message concerning the execution of Manastreth, Warlord of the Rhunyle Sea._"

_Until I defeated him._ Hari added in his head. He unfurled the scroll, read its contents and then, signed on the bottom, "_Princess of Alqualond,_" He turned to her, who was trying to read it behind his back, "_tell Draco I'll be away for a few moments of human time. There is an important event that requires my presence._"

* * *

A/N: Like I said before, I advise you read my prologue story or just the Manastreth part to understand the next part a bit better. I dunno if I'll update this sooner or start an Oblivion fanfic I'm thinking up...hmm...


	5. Execution

A/N: Another late update. I'm a bit out of practise with big action scenes. And this is exactly it! Again, please read my Prologue story or else you will be terribly confused.

**miss quirky bookworm: **Yep, humiliating Snape is always a favourite in fanfictions!

**neverfall16:** Thanks very much!

**evildictionaryninja: **Thanks again.

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 5: Execution**_

Captain Florial took off her helmet and ran a hand through her hair. Whatever she had been expecting at Manastreth's execution, it had not been this. Drow prisoners before him had been despised by the other Elven prisoners: rocks had been thrown at them, some had been forced to sleep out of the barracks and there were even those that were beaten to death before their execution.

Now, no one was jeering or shouting to the soldiers to hasten his demise. Everyone was standing still, staring up at the Drow on the gallows, respectfully quiet. Not completely quiet, though. She could faintly hear sobbing from female and even male. There were even some from the outside, here on their own accord, who had known him. One small Elven boy (whom she vaguely remembered had been here for a hundred years as punishment for theft) was making his steady but determined way to the front.

Manastreth seemed to notice him and moved a little way forward towards the edge of the gallows,

"_Back!_" snapped the captain opposite her, on Manastreth's other side,

"_Forgive me,_" Manastreth said, quite amiably and politely, "_but there is a boy coming of his own will who wishes to see me. Will you deny him that simple request?_"

The captain turned around to the crowd. Florial turned too and saw the crowd actually parting to let him through, seemingly recognising him. The boy's features were visible now. He had rose-blond hair curling lightly around his head and hollowed blue eyes. When he caught sight of Manastreth, now kneeling on the edge of the gallows, he burst into tears and cried,

"_Manastreth! Manastreth!_" He ran the rest of the way and clung to the edge of the gallows. The edge came up to his forehead and he had to stand on tiptoe to speak to him. Then, Manastreth did the most unexpected thing in the world. He reached out his one arm and placed it upon the boy's head,

"_There now, Arioni._" His voice was gentle and comforting, "_Do not weep for my passing._"

"_I don't want you to die!_" wailed the boy, weeping pitifully in the face of Manastreth's strange, calm acceptance,

"_Neither did I._" Manstreth still showed none of the brutalness Florial had expected, "_We Elves are blessed that we may choose our hour of death. I have prolonged my life in fear of death and what may happen in the world without me. I have won no battles and have lived most of my life in hiding. No stories of my victories proceed me but I feel that I have lived well and my ghost shall rest easy._"

Just then, there was a disturbance and two guards were seen restraining a Wood Elf girl between them. When she saw Manastreth, she began howling, "_Father! FATHER!_"

"_We caught her trying to dismantle the gallows._" said one of the guards, "_She's a wild one. Look what she did to me!_" He snarled, gesturing at his black eye. Still, the hysterical girl wailed,

"_FATHER! FATHER, YOU CAN'T DIE! YOU CAN'T! YOU DIDN'T DO IT!_"

Manastreth turned from the boy and gasped at the sight of her, "_Melda._" The girl struggled fruitlessly against her captors,

"_WHY WON'T YOU LISTEN?_" She screamed in their faces, "_FATHER IS MORE GENTLE AND KIND THAN ANY ELF! HE'D NEVER DO IT!_"

"_Melda, be still._" Manastreth held up his remaining hand in an attempt to calm her but, at that point, another voice rang out. From a podium set into the rock, the Prince stood, glaring coldly down on the scene,

"_Be tamed, girl, or you will face the same fate as your captor!_"

"_LIAR!_" screamed Melda and Florial was impressed by her audacity to challenge the Prince, "_HE IS AND ALWAYS WILL BE MY FATHER! HE CARED FOR ME WHEN NO ONE ELSE WOULD! HE-_"

"_SILENCE!_" roared the Prince, silencing her at last. The Prince ran a hand through his hair, calming himself, then spoke to the multitude, "_The girl was deceived and brainwashed by this Drow you see before you. This evil Drow has murdered his own children, performed abominable experiments and created monsters that threaten to destroy Valivial. I thank the deities that he has been successfully captured._"

There was a murmer around the crowd but not of anger or disgust for Manastreth. It was all directed at the Prince. None of them believed him. Florial was baffled. Manastreth certainly did not seem the type to perform such terrible crimes but the Prince was so certain,

"_To this end, I renewed the slavery system in Valivial since no other punishment was terrible enough for this creature._" More murmers, more angry than before, "_Now, after five hundred well-deserved years of suffering in slavery, he shall be put to death._" He addressed Manastreth, "_You are fortunate to be a member of a Warlord family, to be given the honour of dying in your armour and by two of my finest captains. Do you have any last words before I send you to your punisher?_"

"_Yes._" Manastreth raised his head to gaze up at the Prince, "_The Ghost of Guilt will always haunt those who do not satisfy it._"

From where she stood, Florial thought she saw the Prince flinch but it may have just been his hair fluttering in the growing wind, "_May the deities have mercy upon your immortal soul._" He raised an arm. Florial readied her sword, a lump rising in her throat. The Drow was just standing between them, eyes closed and a serene smile on his face. No jeers, no shouts, no shaking fists, just calm acceptance. Florial saw the other captain, Captain Glenwer, show similar reluctance. His hands were shaking and he was glaring determinedly at Manastreth's metal-armoured boots.

The girl, Melda, began to wail again, "_FATHER!_" and the boy, Arioni, glared at Florial and mouthed something which looked very like,

"_May the deities curse you for doing this._"

That was it. Florial took a deep breath...and slammed the blade of her sword down into the wood of the gallows. The sound reverberated around the barren gulley, final and decisive. A second later, Glenwer did the same. The Prince stared, silent for a moment. In the silence, Florial noted that the shocked guards had let Melda go and she had run straight to Manastreth. Arioni also heaved himself onto the gallows and stood protectively in front of Manastreth. The Prince's furious gaze fell upon Florial,

"_What is the meaning of this, Captain Florial?_" He snarled, his voice a toxic hiss, "_I will not tolerate insubordination!_"

"_I will face my punishment later, my Prince,_" Florial said, her voice even despite the fear in her bones, "_but I was not trained to murder those who are loved._"

"_You __**were**__ trained to follow your Prince's orders!_" snapped the Prince, his face contorting with anger, "_You, as well, Captain Glenwer. Your hearts are not as weak as to let this wretch live simply because he has good manners! Guards! Seize those two. I hereby strip them of their ranks and may they languish in the dungeons!_"

The guards looked confused. Never had the Prince thrown such a severe punishment upon such a simple crime. They hesistated and, in that hesistation, Manastreth spoke up, "_Forgive me for my voice, honourable Prince, but I will not suffer to have these good Elves be punished on my account. I beg you to reconsider this decision._"

Florial was amazed. This Drow, whom she had been ordered to execute, was actually defending her and Glenwer! Glenwer looked just as bewildered by Manastreth's behaviour. Neither of them had seen this behaviour even from the gentlest Elf,

"_I do not hear the insignificant ramblings of a condemned Drow._" snarled the Prince, "_Guards! Seize them all! If the captains will not, then I will dispatch this vermin myself!_"

That did it. An outcry rose from the crowd of slaves. They were shouting and waving their fists at the Prince, who actually took a step back in the face of this. The mass of ragged, beaten yet now imflamed slaves burst their barriers of guards and were gathering at the gallows. Florial took hold of her sword to steady herself as the wooden platform rocked dangerously. It almost frightned her to see the slaves that had been mercilessly beaten and whipped so alive again. Melda and Arioni clutched to Manastreth, their faces invisible. Florial realised with a jolt that the slaves were ripping the platform apart with their bare hands, _They would do this much for him?_

With a great, groaning, heaving creak, the wood gave way and the group fell into the mass. Florial managed to pull her sword free just as she was overwhelmed by slaves and Manastreth had disappeared from sight, "_Move aside!_" cried Florial, sheathing her sword and trying to use it as a barrier from the flood. A tug at her armour caught her attention and Glenwer appeared at her side,

"_In my five thousand years, I swear I've never seen anything like this!_"

"_Nor have I._"

Florial attempted fruitlessly to push back the thousands (or perhaps millions) of bodies pushing inexorably towards the Prince's podium, "_Come. We must protect the Prince._" The two allowed themselves to pushed towards the wall where a path had been cut in the rock and the people were charging up them.

Then, stones began to fly from the throng, directed at the Prince's platform. The platform began to sway dangerously as well and Florial's heart stopped as it began to collapse. It looked like certain death but, just as the fragments of wood began to fall, a dark blur shot from the wreckage, "_Your Majesty!_" gasped Florial but the soaring figure paid her no heed. His blazing eyes were fixed directly upon the gates leading to the pathway out of the gulley.

He leapt nimbly across the rooftops of the slave barracks but Florial could see no more over the heads of the shifting mass, "This way, Glenwer!" She grabbed hold of his arm and pushed through crowd, using her sheathed sword again. She had to get to the Prince; she knew she had to do this much. The Prince could be dangerous and hurt these people. She knew how little the Prince regarded soldier's etiquette and what he would do to get his own way.

* * *

The gate was in sight when he appeared. Manastreth had been pulled forward by Melda and Arioni, the crowd parting to let him through. Though Manastreth didn't agree with such a riot, the promise of freedom and more time with those he loved was too alluring. Then, a dark blur descended from the air and landed in the gateway, blocking the way.

The Prince's forehead was bleeding slightly from where a stone had struck him but he was still on his feet. Manastreth saw the angry fire in his eyes, that had been so cold last time he'd seen them. Quickly, he motioned for Melda and Arioni to back away which was perhaps lucky because he just barely evaded the Prince's first attack. The silver blade swished in the air, just missing his hair, as he dodged sideways.

Finding a thick wooden pole with his fingers, he held up up and caught the next attack. Mercifully, the pole held, only dropping a fraction of an inch under the sword's pressure. Putting all his strength behind it, Manastreth managed to force it up again, _I have a defence. I may have my chance now._ Snarling in frustration, the Prince swung again. With lightning-quick reflexes Manastreth had half-forgotten he had, he met the attack and pushed back away.

Then, to his astonishment, the sword flew from the Prince's hand. For a moment, it was a blurred silver disk as it flew and landed about ten feet away. Manastreth was puzzled by this strange occurance. It was clearly an enchanted sword and would not easily miss or fly out of an owner's hand like that. The reason the swords had names was because they were alive, they could think for themselves and gave their loyalties to their master. Or, should he say, their wielders. The swords did not like being driven, only led, _Is it possible that the sword is betraying him?_

He frowned in confusion, gazing at the sword. It stood on its own, hilt-up, inclining ever so slightly in his direction.

Then, the hilt was covered by the Prince's pale hand and the blade swung down again. Manastreth managed to block but, all the while, he began to notice more and more problems. The sword was not as quick as such a sword's wont was; he could block it in plenty of time. Though the Prince put all his weight behind it, it could not cut through the comparitively thin and weak wood, _It shows all signs of betrayal. I have never seen a sword so flighty. Swords only betray their owners if they are displeased with the owner's actions and see another, more suitable candidate._

_WHOOSH!_

Again, the sword slipped straight out of the Prince's hand and, this time, landed right at Manastreth's feet. The Prince gave a snarl of frustration as he leapt for it,

_"Help me..._"

Everything seemed to fade around him. The Prince, the anxious crowd, even the groud seemed to disappear, leaving him standing on nothingness and the sword suspended before him. Even the light changed. The hot midday sun vanished and the sword began to spark and catch fire. Though the metal could not burn. It simply shone flickeringly with emerald green flames. The emeralds in the hilt themselves seemed to shine so brightly, they were like eyes staring at him. Staring into his very soul, it felt like,

"_Help me...take me from this cruel master..._"

"_Why?_" whispered Manastreth. He knew it was the sword speaking, having had similar conversations with his own sword, "_What has he done to you?_"

"_Not me._" The emeralds sent out gentle sparks. The sword was weeping, "_What he has done to others. What he has used me to do. I am a weapon that is used to bring victory to my owner, not a tool for murder and destruction. You have seen this. You have seen him kill your children. They were naked, unarmed, helpless, any merciful wielder would have spared them. Even helped them live their lives in peace. Someone...like you._"

What the sword wanted came to him in an instant, "_You are choosing me to wield you?_"

"_Yes! Yes!_" The blade almost quivered with excitement, "_Now call out my name! Call out Bellime and I am yours forever! The contract will be sealed and Hari Valedhiel will tremble before me!_"

There was a small pause, in which Manastreth closed his eyes and shook his head, "_That cannot be done._"

"_What?_" The sword twitched in surprise, "_You have no other sword. Your sword is broken, dead! Let me be your one. Nothing prevents you._"

Manastreth merely smiled sadly, "_Everything prevents me. You belong to the Prince. I will not take you from him._"

"_Why?_" The voice became a wail, a desperate plea, "_Why would you leave me to endure his cruelty? To be a helpless tool to his tyranny?_"

"_I will not wield you because I believe in him._" Manastreth said, patiently. He had rehearsed these words in his head over the years to answer those who questioned his purpose, "_He is but young in years and in judgement. He will change his ways, I know it. He will not always be as he is now._"

"_He only gets worse every day! Every day, his dangerous madness grows and you speak of him changing! That will never be!_"

"_He cannot change on his own._" Manastreth nodded, "_He needs a hand to hold, a voice to guide. Do not abandon him for that will force him to retreat further into darkness and insanity. He must not be alone or else he will worsen. I will hold you if you please but I will never be your wielder. I will not destroy him like this nor will I take his life. I have not regenerated my arm for this purpose, to give him this chance to make amends._"

There was a pause, as though Bellime were thinking this over, "_Very well. Take hold of me. To be in your hands would be like being held by a saint. No blood is upon them, which is quite a welcome change._"

The scene flooded back and began to move again. The Prince's hand was just a foot away from Bellime's hilt. Manastreth reached out his hand quickly and gripped the hilt. He could feel it warming to his touch, welcoming him, "_Remember,_" said the blade, "_if you ever change your mind, you only have to call out my name._"

He looked up to the Prince's eyes widen, first with shock and then with anger, "_You dare...you DARE TOUCH A PRINCE'S BLADE!_" He shrieked, now looking more maddened than ever, _He is far gone...but not so far._ The captain that had thrown down her sword first came to the forefront of the crowd. Manastreth couldn't help but feel a warm rush when he saw her, _She has given me this chance. A debt must be repaid in the near future. _The Prince spotted her as well as she looked confusedly between Manastreth holding Bellime and the Prince unarmed. The boy thrust out his empty palm towards her, "_Captain, your sword! I do not need that traitorous sword to kill the filthy Dunskin._"

There was a ripple through the crowd, one of more anger and disgust. Dunskin was an extremely foul word to use in reference to a Drow. Manastreth had been on the receiving end of this word many times and perhaps this was why no anger sparked within him since he was so used to it. Any other Drow would have probably attacked with great ferocity and little mercy towards the offender but Manastreth knew better, _Those who use it know not its power._ _They use it because they see too many differences. Perhaps the Prince has convinced himself that I am so evil that he has started to feel this way towards all Drows. Or perhaps because he fought so many._ Either way, he could not feel upset at the slur. He could only feel sympathy and forgiveness.

Bellime, however, shared none of these feelings, "_He dares...he dares to slander me...!_"

The captain herself flinched at the word and hesitated to obey. The Prince's face contorted further, "_GIVE ME YOUR SWORD OR BE CLAPPED IN IRONS!_" _He has even clouded himself to think that his friends are his enemies. _The poor captain hastily undid the leather straps that held her sword in place and handed it to him,

"_Get ready._" Bellime whispered, "_I will not fail you. That bit of dead metal is nothing to me._"

Manastreth readied Bellime in front of his face. The captain's sword met her...and shattered on inpact. Tiny shards fell in a cascade from the cleaved halves and clattered upon the metal of Manastreth's boots. The Prince's eyes widened to their greatest extent yet and he actually leapt back ten feet, the pieces of useless metal falling from his hand,

"_Nothing._" Bellime repeated, "_I am so much stronger in your hands. It is my wont that I measure people by the amount of blood they have shed in their life. Using that measurement, I may choose to limit or enhance my strength. I can tell you that I have never been so strong in your hands. You have never taken a life and I am sharper than I ever was!_"

Her cry was victorious and ecstactic, exhilerated but Manastreth could feel no joy. The Prince looked its most maddened and wicked yet, like an advocate of the devils in human Christianity. Or one that had been bewitched and possessed by them. He felt it was the latter,

"_What witchcraft is this?_" He growled, "_What dark bewitchment have you performed to make my blade betray me?_"

"_I was never yours to begin with!_" snarled Bellime, "_You cannot hear my voice. I have never spoken to you and never will!_" Manastreth was surprised by this. Ordinarily, the living blade would often speak to its owner like Bellime was doing to Manastreth. Manastreth's blade had been very close to him, almost as close as a mother and never lusting for a kill, _Oh, deities, is it possible that the poor Prince has never even heard the sweet singing of his blade?_

More sympathy, seemingly limitless, reached for the Prince and Manastreth stuck Bellime into the ground, the gesture of peace, "_I will not willingly lift a weapon against you, let alone your own. If you attack me, I will defend myself and nothing more._"

"_What would you have of me, you honey-tongued murderer?_" The Prince snarled. Manastreth sighed, _All these words he says to me, he is directing to himself,_

"_Nothing more than your honesty, my Prince. Injustice is a terrible thing._"

The Prince's lips pulled back. He looked more like an enraged animal than ever, "_What nonsense do you speak? Would you slander me, your righteous executioner? What other depths will you sink to? Eh?_" He spat. Manastreth shook his head,

"_It is not me you ought to be speaking this words to._"

The Prince's eyebrows quirked up for a moment in shock then returned to his demonlike wrath, "_I know your crimes. You would commit atrocities that even Orcs would not stoop so low as and you still stand upright like a saint, pleading false innocence and humility! You are the most sickening creature I have ever encountered and may the deities prevent me from ever encountering again! Now,_" He began to sink into a crouch. A tense, hunched crouch, balancing on the tips of his fingers, ready to pounce, "_if you think just taking my sword from me will stop me, you are sadly mistaken._"

He launched himself forward, a bright angry ball of light building in his hand. Manastreth pulled Bellime in front of his face. The magic clashed with the silver, "_Tch! Just that? He really is nothing without me._"

The spell flickered out within ten seconds of striking. The Prince leapt back again, growling in defeat. He glared at Manastreth for perhaps two seconds and then, shot another. And another. All the same blue light, many hailing down upon him in a frenzy. The barren earth began to crack beneath his feet as the spells began to miss Manastreth by several feet.

It hit him so hard that he nearly got hit by another spell that they were drawing ever closer to putting the watching crowd in danger, _He has lost himself that I cannot see the people around us._ Carefully, he moved forward through the ever-growing sea of blue mist towards the dark figure. This was a bad move; the Prince was upon him in a whirl of sleek hair.

His white fingers had enclosed themselves around Manastreth's thin neck and had begun to squeeze. The air became harder and harder to take in as the Prince slowly closed the airway, "_I do not need that scrap of sorry metal to kill you!_" He heard the Prince snarl. His white teeth were bared and he looked more animal-like than Manastreth thought possible. Manastreth tried to gain enough breath to speak. He needed to speak to him, persuade him to stop this madness but his air was running out. His lungs constricted painfully and his vision swam. Choking, he tried to maintain a view of the fading young Elf on top of him...

* * *

A/N: Gotta love a cliffhanger! Keep reading!


	6. The Gift

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Working on two stories at once will do that to you.

**neverfall16: **Well, that's good. I was worried about the last chapter.

**miss quirky bookworm:** Nope. No flashback here.

**evildictionaryninja: **I'm glad of that. I was aiming for a shocker.

* * *

_** Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 6: The Gift**_

He woke with a sore throat and an aching head, feeling as though he had just recovered from a bad head-cold. His throat felt as though someone had rubbed a cheese grater against it and it was still in tatters. Small realisations came to him one by one. One, he was lying on a bed with smooth linen sheets, unlike the scratchy sack-cloth he had grown accustomed to. Two, people were around him. He did not need to open his eyes to hear their voices. Three, he was beginning to recognise some of the voices. He vaguely heard Melda at his closest right,

"_...please, deities, gods, anyone...don't let Father die...don't take him from me..._"

As he listened harder, he heard the voice of the female captain that had put her sword down first, "_...in chains. What could have maddened the Prince so?_"

"_Never seen him like that._" agreed the voice of the male captain, "_Ouch-to think he would attack his own captains!_"

"_To think that his own sword would turn against him._" added the female, "_Hold still._"

Another voice, this time to his left, spoke, "_You're awake. Wonderful._" It was Bellime. He kept his eyes closed, listening to what she was saying next, "_I felt you lose consciousness so I attacked the Prince. After he was thrown back, Captain Glenwer tried to hold him back. The madman stabbed his own captain and was put in chains._"

_That will do him no good._ Manastreth thought, _He has isolated himself all his life and, from isolation, his madness has been allowed to grow. Like a flower in the sun and warmth, darkness and solitude makes madness thrive. I must persuade them to release him and perhaps I can stop him._ He felt he could open his eyes now so, he pulled up his eyelids to see directly into Melda's face. She took a few seconds to take it in and then, she gave a cry of delight,

"_Father! Father, you're awake! You're alive!_" She was crying with happiness and hugging him without him realising when she started. Everyone else in the room turned their attention to him. Arioni was standing beside the window, beaming with happiness. Manastreth held out his arm as an invitation, which he took and he joined Melda in hugging him.

He spotted the two captains in the corner and, sure enough, the male captain had his arm in a sling. A very bloody sling. He also saw Dorves Neruda, the head guard of the place with his two associates who would not give their names to him. Bellime stood, stuck into the floor beside the bed. The female captain strode over to him,

"_You are awake at last. I feared that the Prince had killed you._"

Melda glared up at her, "_Your intention was to execute Father. Why did you care if he died or not?_"

"_Melda._" Manastreth said, firmly. He was worried that her rudeness may inflame the guard and provoke them to attack her. However, it was Dorves who answered. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed,

"_I hardly think that any of us is going to have the heart to execute him after this. Not after seeing how much everyone loves him._ _It's astonishing, truly astonishing. Everyone is gathered outside to hear of your welfare._"

"_Yes, yes, of course._" The male captain, Glenwer smirked in a way that only a teasing friend could, "_You're just scared of them rebelling again._"

"_I could have handled a simple rebellion._" snapped Dorves, "_My men were simply...unprepared..._"

"_Liar._" Bellime snickered. Manastreth turned to her, unnoticed as attention turned to the arguing men, "_I could feel him shaking as the hoard advanced. He feared you, Manastreth, for he sees you as the instigator of this. A paranoid, nervous little fool. Hari only hired him because he knew that he was easily dominated and would not tell the Queen about this. Oh, yes,_" She added, sensing Manastreth's surprise, "_this slavery goes completely unnoticed by the King and Queen. It was the Queen that banned slavery in Valivial in the first place. As soon as she became Queen, no less!_"

Manastreth picked up Bellime by the hilt and whispered to her, "_How does the Prince know your name if you never spoken to him?_"

"_He got it from my last owner. Back when he was sane, he was only about two hundred. My last owner was a runaway mercenary, then a murderer, who attacked and ransacked passing coaches. Much like orc bandit bands today. I hated him. He would slam a warhammer upon me whenever I protested to partaking in his crimes. He would never dare break me, of course, but it hurt! I had no choice but to go along with his plans. But, he was also very careless. He left me in plain view in a cave he was hiding in. The Prince had blundered into that cave and all the odds suggest that he should have perished there. But I saw his pure soul and wanted him to take me._

"_But I was afraid. I distrusted elves after the treatment that owner had subjected me to. I did not call out to him. Instead, I reached to him through spirit, invisible to their eyes, and gave him the strength to defeat my owner in a match. I was the prize of the wager. Though he did not realise it, my influence had caught his young attention and he was fascinated with me. So, he battled and, unwittingly with my help, defeated the elf. He was captured and arrested by the Prince's bodyguards and I was taken to Ariador._

"_I was treated like a honoured guest. I had all the nicks and bends taken out of me, the Prince would practise his swordsmanship with me and put me in a special case beside his bed. I was the happiest I had been in my existance. This little Elven boy was young, strong and caring. He would become stronger in my care and guidance. I felt that I could speak with him but it took me another hundred years to convince myself it was time. It was then that he went to Lindaria. I know not what happened there but a new boy came back. One that was cold and unloving. He would use me differently. In the past, he had used me with the intention to become better and with innocent ambitions. Now, he trained to kill and had only bloody thoughts. He once revelled in the enjoyment of the exertion. Now, he only revelled in cold bloodlust._

"_This frightened me anew and drew me into prolonged silence. He has made me do unspeakable things and still I hoped for that happy, innocent boy that would only use me to gain victory, never blood. In the last hundred years, I realised that the Prince I loved would never come back and I was as broken-hearted as the many suitors he threw aside. I became blunt, no longer desired battle, and tried to slip from his hands but this cry for help went unnoticed. The Prince only thought I was wearing with use and began brutally sharpening me. He never realised that I was alive. All this time, he thought me a common dead piece of metal!_" Manastreth heard despairing dry sobs as the blade despaired and he could feel the hilt shaking slightly. He stroked Bellime comfortingly with the very tips of his fingers, just like he would with his blade when she despaired,

"_You must not lose hope._" He told her, gently, now having forgotten everyone else around him, "_That Prince you love will return, if not exactly in the way you think._" Bellime steadied herself and resumed her story,

"_Just as I thought of slipping from the Prince's belt and trusting to luck to find a better owner, I saw you. You were being beaten by the guards and by the Prince but I sensed your power. That power you repress strictly for fear of injuring others. And your soul. That pure soul that is free of any blood. Like the soul of a newborn babe. You were just like my Prince that had rescued me. A glimmer of hope ignited within me. Now, I did not desire simple escape. I desired nothing more than to make you my master. You are right; my Prince has come back. He is you. Now, enough of your sympathy for that evil creature! Call my name! Make me yours!_"

Manastreth sighed again, "_You know I cannot do that. You belong to the Prince. No joy will come of being my blade. Your owner is not an evil creature. Whatever happened to him can be repaired._"

"_Manastreth!_" A sharp voice made him jolt violently. The female captain had spoken without warning and Manastreth had been too absorbed with Bellime's story. Once she knew she had his attention, she cleared her throat and said, "_You speak to the Prince's blade but does it speak back?_"

"_Indeed._" Manastreth nodded, "_She has just explained to me her story of how she came into the Prince's hands and how she despairs for his deterioration into madness which she witnessed._"

"_Do you not know her name?_"

"_She has told me her name._" Manastreth knew honesty was best in this case, "_But I dare not say it._"

"_Why not?_" The female captain looked confused, _She has never held a live blade and knows nothing of the rites of ownership_,

"_If I speak her name, I seal a contract that gives all ownership of her to me._"

"_It's true._" nodded Captain Glenwer, seeming to have halted his argument with Dorves, "_If a blade is that desperate to get away from an owner, they can sever all the ties by themselves except one. That one is broken by the chosen owner calling out the sword's name._" Seeing the stares, he shrugged, "_I read that in a book once. But those instances are very rare. The last one was back in the First Era or so I heard._"

The female captain looked astonished, "_The Prince's blade has become so disillusioned with him that she has evoked that rite? Why? Did she say?_"

Manastreth closed his eyes, "_Yes, but I am afriad I can only let the Prince himself tell you that. Which brings me to my request._" He climbed off the bed, out of his children's affectionate embraces, "_I wish to see him. With no chains, guards or restraint._"

Melda and Arioni cried out in shock and fright, "_He'll kill you!_" wailed Melda. Manastreth held up a hand and addressed the captain,

"_I am adament. Grant me this one wish and I will submit humbly to your will._"

The two captains looked as though he had just asked to be thrown naked into a pool of Finned Crocodiles. Dorves blanched and quivered. His associates saw their master's fright and exchanged nervous glances. At last, Dorves spoke, "_You can't. Your girl is right, he will kill you without a single thought. You saw how he tried to choke you!_"

Manastreth, on the other hand, shared none of their terror. He simply smiled, amused, "_I appreciate your unexpected concern, Master Neruda, but know, if I died then, I would die content._"

There was a general intake of breath from the group. The female captain stood forward, "_I do not think we were introduced. My name is Florial and I am five thousand years old. I was in the Akhohr since I was one hundred and served the Queen when she was but a Princess. I have known the Prince from childhood and know his temper and madness. He has great power and strength since he was a boy, more so since he changed a thousand years ago._" Seeing his unchanging expression, she groaned with exasperation, "_He has defeated you once! What makes you think you can do so again?_"

"_Because I will not defeat him._" Manastreth said, simply, "_I will not fight him._"

Another intake of breath and one of the associates burst out, "_Are you mad? Do you really want to die that much?_"

"_I will not die._" Manastreth knew they would never realise it so he held up Bellime as an explaination, "_There are too many people whom I cannot bear to be without._"

With that, he strode towards the door, taking advantage of the shock around him. He had just went through the door when Captain Florial held him back, "_At least let us heal that arm of yours. It can still be regenerated._"

"_I will only let one person regenerate this arm, Captain. Forgive me, but it is not you._"

Then, he vanished from her grip in a burst of speed that made him vanish from the naked eye. All she grasped was the fading after-image.

* * *

It was dark outside. He did not know so much time had passed but he found the confinement carriage outside the gate, even in the dark. But a terrible surprise awaited him. Every one of the guards lay in pools of their own blood but had no blade wounds. Some had their necks broken, others had holes punched in their stomachs and other horrific injuries. Manastreth stood, frozen with fear for a moment, before realising one of them was still ever so slightly moving.

He hurried to the girl, who was gasping in agony, clutching a deep wound in his chest. Manastreth held his hand over it and began chanting the healing spell over and over again, _If I can save one, perhaps it will remedy these other crimes. _She gave a small gasp, "_Oh! You..._"

"_Please do not speak._" murmered Manastreth, between chanting the spells, "_I will help you._" Then, her bloodied hand raised and placed it over his, blocking the healing magic,

"_My name is Iriva, house Llangowl. You must...kill the Prince._"

"_What?_" Manastreth gasped, aghast, but the dying elf still continued to speak,

"_I beg of you. Strike him dead. He is mad beyond repair...please, stop him..._" Her eyes slid closed and she breathed her last. Manastreth choked on his sobs. He could not save her now. If he had continued casting those healing spells, he might have saved her. He wiped away his tears, found her sword and stuck it in the ground above her head. It was the Drow way to bury their dead using their swords as a gravemarker.

He stood over the poor girl's body, still sobbing, _Alas, her death will weigh heavily upon the Prince. I must find him before he kills more and doubles his regret._ Placing Bellime upon the ground, he whispered, "_Can you sense him?_"

"_Of course. About a hundred yards away, at my two o'clock. Ah! He's just changed direction. He has sensed you and is coming. He'll be here in a minute. Get ready._"

He picked up Bellime simply as a precaution, letting her hang at his side. He did not move into a battle poise but was instinctively tense. The fear of the Prince during their battle on the ship had not yet left him. The cold, merciless eyes, the extreme speed, the immense strength and the pitiless movements.

The Prince came out of the shadows like a predetor, half hunched like a lion waiting to pounce. His chest was bare and he could see a dark circular burn where Bellime had struck. The pale face was flushed with exertion and the remnants of the holding chains still clung to his wrists and ankles. His fingernails had grown into sharp, thick claws, slightly curled downwards at the ends, and his teeth were bared menacingly, _He is becoming feral._ Though the sight of the wild Prince was terrifying, Manastreth could feel nothing but pity for him as he came to a stop about ten feet away, "_That is enough, tender Prince._" He said, in a voice little more than an whisper in an effort to calm him, "_Enough blood has been spilt in this madness. Will you accept the truth and face what must be faced?_"

It was a while of panting heavily before the Prince answered, "_You will pay...you will suffer for this..._"

"_My Prince._" Manastreth gestured at the bodies around them, "_I have been requested to kill you by your own guards. They believe you too far gone to come back but I know that you can. I will not strike you dead. Know that; I have never taken a life and I will not start here._"

"_ENOUGH!_" With a screech of rage, the Prince lunged at him. Manastreth dropped Bellime, reached up and caught the arm that attempted to claw his face. Though the strength was astounding, Manastreth could just hold it back,

"_Please, my Prince! Hari, you cannot continue in this bloody path! Do you wish to hurt those you love as well as your enemies?_" The force increased, forcing Manastreth to the ground,

"_Those I love?_" The Prince snarled, his eyes burning into Manastreth's face, "_Do not be foolish! I love no one! I am Calasier Avamela! My heart is nothing!_"

"_All things love._" Manastreth said, patiently, wishing that he had his other arm so he could carress his face, "_You too. Do you not love your mother and your father? They will be hurt when they hear of what you have done and you will hurt them more by continuing your rampage._"

"_STOP IT!_" cried the Prince, scrunching his eyes tight shut, "_ENOUGH OF YOUR FAINT-HEARTED IDEALS! I WILL KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO ME!_"

There was a hot rush from behind, accompanied by a bright emerald light. Like a deer at a gunshot, the Prince threw himself around to glare at the apparition. A white spirit woman with emeralds for eyes, her body wreathed in green flames, hovered above the ground. Flames rushed around her, sometimes forming figures which reached out as if crying for help but disappeared before they did anything else. She was also covered in what was unmistakably blood and her face was furious as she jabbed a finger at the Prince,

"_You are a creature of evil, Hari Valedhiel! You, who dashed all my hopes of you becoming great and are lower than the owner you took me from. I know your sins well. The pure souls you wrenched from their flesh are those that haunt me! The blood you wickedly spilt is what covers me! I am done with you, Prince of Hate and Death! I move to the purest soul in these lands, whose will cleanse me and release those souls. I choose you, Manastreth of the House of Valshares, to wield me._"

The Prince turned to Manastreth with a look of horror on his face. Seeing that face made him more adament than ever, "_I will have to decline. Again, I have no desire to wield a weapon than belongs to someone else. Return, if you please._"

With a look of thunder, the spirit of Bellime dissolved into tiny lights which gathered and solidified into the blade once more. A moment of tense silence followed. It only took a fraction of a second to realise that the Prince was quivering with fright. He was still staring at the place where Bellime had been, an expression of utter horror upon his face.

Slowly and gently, Manastreth moved his arm around his thin body and pulled it closer to his chest. Just as slowly, he lowered his head so it rested upon the Prince's black hair. Now they were closer, he could hear the sympathy-provoking sounds of his quiet whimpering, _It must crush him to know that his sword has betrayed him. How much have you suppressed your guilt over the years? How much is it haunting you now?_

"_Oh, tender Prince,_" he murmered, "_call me a fool but I consider you as I would one of my own. My own child that has strayed and whom I must guide._"

"_Why..._" A small voice came from the Prince, a mere weak undertone, "_...why are you merciful? I have...I have hurt you...killed your children...and would have killed you with my crimes to your name..._"

"_Do you really want to know?_" Manasteth asked, putting a finger under the Prince's face and gently pushing it up so the wet green eyes were visible, "_Do you wish me to show you? I can do it. I need not say a word. May I?_"

All the Prince did was give a small nod. With a small comforting smile, Manastreth put his forehead to the Prince's and closed his eyes. He had not done this in a while and hoped he could still do it. But, as always, his mind had not forgotten. It instantly drew on the memories he needed. Right back from when he had first been told he would never be a warlord unless everyone else in the family was dead. The bitter feelings he had felt surfaced as he had been dumped-there was no better word for it-on the shores of the mainland and told to keep a low profile. He had just been a child then.

Then, as he lived in isolation in the wilderness, he had found peace. Living in the forests of Valivial for years upon years away from large towns gave him time to ponder his family's ways. To ponder and wish that he never returned to them. As the years had gone by, he had wished for companionship and had tried to integrate into society again. He tried at a small village but, due to him being a Drow, he had been driven out with stones and rocks thrown after him.

However, he had found it easy to forgive them. They only saw a Drow and not him. Though he was disappointed, he had refused to let himself sink into despair. Instead, he had stayed around the village in hiding, concealing himself in the trees around it and watched them from afar. So it was for many centuries. Then, hard times had fallen upon the little place. A bad crop and a harsh winter resulted in illnesses (which Manastreth had never seen since Drows were resistant to the cold) and Manastreth's first view of arguments among friends. Blame was pushed here and there and it had broke his heart to see the once peaceful elves now at each other's throats for need and greed.

Then, it had happened. He had witnessed a group of elves attack a poor farmer's house, under the misapprehension that he had been hoarding all the harvest for himself and let the rest of the village starve. Manastreth had wept when he saw the house in flames and the family being killed. Fear had kept him in place and he could only weep for their poor souls.

Anger had flared him after the place was in smoking ruins. He had wanted to hunt those murderers and kill them for their crimes. He had even stolen a blade and tracked them down to their houses. He had found the leader, broken down his door and readied the blade but met an amazing sight. The elf had been lying on the floor, knife in hand and his eyes wrecked. He had slashed his own eyes. The elf heard him come in and just smiled. Manastreth remembered exactly what he had said,

"_I think I know why you are here. But I am capable of accomplishing what you came here for._"

"_What do you mean?_" Manastreth had asked, puzzled, distracted from his fury,

"_I killed that poor family out of a moment of rage that possessed me that extinguished the moment I had completed the deed. May Garthial curse me for sending those poor souls to her before their time._"

Manastreth had been amazed. Amazed that the elf he had once hated and seen as completely evil could be capable of guilt and repentance. He had dropped the blade and cradled the bleeding elf in his arms. The elf's blind eyes had turned up to him, that smile still upon his face,

"_I know not who you are but you were ready to kill me a moment ago. And I would have welcomed my death_"

"_You are repentant._" Manastreth argued, wishing that the thing he now dreaded would not happen, "_You can atone for your actions. Take that man's place. Become the villager's farmer and bring prosperity to this place. Let it never become what it has now._"

The elf, if his eyes had been able to see, would have stared at him, "_But...I have never..._"

"_You can learn._" Manastreth went on, eager that he was no longer contemplating killing himself, "_I can help you. I know not how to repair your eyes but I can be your eyes._"

From that day on, Manastreth had lived in secret in that elf's house while that elf had done all he could to hold up the village in that dead farmer's place. Manastreth had not dared show his face in public after his rejection all those years ago or even tell the elf who he really was. They were happy living together, just growing the crops and living a provicial life.

Until that fateful day when a female elf had begun to visit the house more and more frequently and Manastreth had to hide more often. It had put a strain on their friendship and it became worse when she turned out to be a healer. She had fixed his eyes and, fearing the worst, Manastreth had fled. He had never returned to that village, an unrealised fear keeping him away.

He had went back to living in the wilderness but still longed for a companion. Elves who stumbled across him always harshly rejected him and, though saddened by each rejection, again, he found it easy to forgive them. People judged by their eyes since they were the dominant sense. Only a blind person could truly befriend him.

The years had flown by but he still managed to keep count of the number of winters he had lived through. After fifty thousand years, he had been tracked and approached by Nestriv and Renewl, forcing him to become a warlord out of the blue. He had complained and refused over and over again but they were insistant that he was the only member of the bloodline left and he had to take charge.

Then, Manastreth pulled himself from the memories and pulled away from the Prince's face. That face was chalky white now and astonished, "_You...what did you do..._?"

"_I know not myself._" Manastreth sighed, "_It seems to be a reverse of the Rinatula. Instead of taking in the thoughts of those around me, I project my own memories onto other people._"

"_I felt like you._" The Prince gasped, "_I felt those emotions you felt, thought those thoughts you thought. My senses were yours._"

"_Yes, that is its trick. I am blessed with a long memory or perhaps it is part of the gift. My memories do not fade as others do. The emotions attached to them still linger._"

The Prince ran a hand through his head, his breath coming in emotional gasps, "_I never would have hesistated. I would have killed that elf straight away. You may show me what built you but your foundations are clear from birth. I can never be as merciful as you. I am born with bloodlust and will die with bloodlust._"

"_Your mother and father are not killers._" corrected Manastreth, "_You cannot be born with it. And, if there is bloodlust within them, they can clearly repress it. So can you. Just as I hesistated to kill that good elf, you may hold your blade still as well. Come._" He began to help the Prince up but he held him back,

"_Manastreth Valshares, let me follow you._" He clutched at the sleeve, "_Let me learn your ways. Let me try to repent to you._" Then, the Prince moved his hands to the empty gap in Manastreth's robe where his arm had been severed. Without a word, light appeared from the palms and Manastreth realised what was happening. He smiled as the arm reformed and sensation grew into it.

As soon as he felt that it was fully formed, he drew the symbol of Valivial upon the back, "_So I always remember who did it._" Manastreth said, with a smile as the Prince looked at him, puzzled.

* * *

A/N: Ah, a happy ending...ish. I just hope that wasn't more of an anticlimax than Breaking Dawn.


	7. The Beasts

A/N: Whew! Finally done. I had a bit of writer's block like I always do after a big action chapter but I finally got this done.

**neverfall16:** Great!

**evildictionaryninja: **Not especially fond of Breaking Dawn, no. I'm glad you liked the chapter.

**cyiusblack: **Well, better late than never!

**miss quirky bookworm:** In due time, in due time.

**Tarhemelhion** (nice name): That's what I'm focusing on in this chapter! Enjoy!

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 7: The Beasts**_

Glancing at the clock again and again, Maederhwen's worries became bigger and bigger, _Where the hell is that Prince?_ After two hours, she swore, "_He should be back now!_" Elivor, who had been curled up in cat form, looked up and transformed. Maederhwen could not help but grin. She loved the fact that her husband had the Kelvara. Not only could she carry him everywhere but, when he transformed back, he was always naked,

"_Is the Prince of Valivial not back yet?_"

"_Nah. It's been hours!_" She moaned, "_Draco's gonna be on our backs if he isn't back soon._"

"_What will I get on your backs about?_" Draco had arrived. Maederhwen swallowed. Knowing how much Draco cared about the Prince, she knew it wasn't going to be easy to break the bad news to him,

"_Erm..._" She itched the back of her neck, uneasily, "..._well...it's about the Prince of Valivial..._"

"_Yes_?" Draco was alert at once. Exactly when she was fearing,

"_Well...he's been...kinda...missing for a couple of hours...went through the Emergency Portal to Valivial and never came back..._" She said the last part in a rush, seeing Draco's stricken expression,

"_Why did he go to Valivial? What happened?_"

"_I dunno._" She shrugged, privately quailing under his fearful stare, "_He just said he'd be away for a moment of this time but he's been away for hours. I'm no mathematician but I reckon it's been weeks, maybe a month over there._"

"_A month?_" Draco gasped, fear showing clearly in his pale face, "_But-but, hasn't anyone sent word? Wouldn't someone come and tell us where he is?_"

"_Exactly._" Elivor cut in, clothed in a hastily thrown-on robe, "_Someone would undoubtably come with news of a change in plan, his capture or his death._" Maederhwen wished he had not said that; Draco was wound up enough as it was and, at this idea, he looked positively petrified, "_I suggest we open the Emergency Portal and request intelligence of his whereabouts. No doubt that the King and Queen of Valivial will oblige to Draco at least._"

"_But, Eli, you're forgetting something._" Maederhwen glared, "_The portal can't be opened from here. I can only be opened from Valivial._"

"_I never said it could be done immediately._" Elivor said, in that light know-it-all tone that got on her nerves, "_Since it has been opened in the last twenty-four hours, the connection has not yet faded. With a little work, I may be able to forge the pathway again. Please, I require utter concentration with no room for disturbance._"

Maederhwen stood where she was for a moment, got bored and silently gestured at the door to Draco. They both slipped out of the room into the main room of the Room of Requirement or 'the Sanctum of Immortality' as Maederhwen had named it, because it 'sounded cool'. The training room was one of the many rooms it had miraculously spawned. Maederhwen often wondered how it was created by the Elves themselves because the room (not that it could really be called a room anymore) always unleashed more for the Elves than humans.

As her husband worked away in the other room, she stared up at the ceiling, delicately painted to depict a copy of the famous Norna. The history of the Norna had been drilled into her head ever since she was little. History teachers had struck hard but had not penetrated the petty facts into her brain when playground tales did the job with ease.

The ceiling had been the first adornment of the first chapel of the deities (the deity changed with every retelling but Maederhwen liked Turil best so she went with that), famously styled like a wheel with four spokes, a different scene portrayed in every section seperated by them. One (traditionally facing east) portrayed a moon shining over the sea with a great ship sailing over the horizon and merpeople (merpeople were ancient history in Elven lore) frolicking in the water around it. Next (traditionally facing north) were paintings of birds and cherubim and in a night sky full of stars. Then, (traditionally facing south), there would be an image of elves in chariots and winged horses darting through clouds and last, (always facing west) was a bright yellow sun with fiery dragons encircling it.

So it was with this ceiling. Of course, the original had been destroyed or lost in the first Orc Invasion, _Wouldn't been surprised if they managed to sneak it into the human world though, those sneaky Valivians! _She smirked as she imagined dozens of Valivian elves trying to hide the big ceiling in a cart, carefully levering it as the big slab of marble slid back and forth, threatening to fall off-

"_AARRGGHH!_"

The sudden shout made Maederhwen shoot up to her feet immediately, "What the bloody hell was that?" She gasped, slipping into English for her exclaimation, as was habit,

"_Was that Elivor_?" Draco too had leapt up, looking wildly about like a dear at a gunshot,

Panicking now, Maederhwen ran to the door, flinging it wide open. On the floor was Elivor, sprawled and panting, as though he had run a marathon. A big gash splashed blood onto the floor from his shoulder, which he clutched in a desperate attempt to stauch the flow,

"_What the hell happened?_" She demanded, new panic coming into her at the sight of her husband injured. Throwing herself to his side, she searched her mind for any healing spells and cursed herself when she realised the gap in her knowledge, _Damn! Why the hell did I decide to trash the classroom when the professor was telling us about healing spells?_

"_Monsters..._" Elivor gasped out at last, "..._a whole infestation of them...I know not what they are...but they are powerful. They pushed me back as I attempted to carve a path to Valivial..._"

"_What?_" Maederhwen gasped, staring at the gateway. The last remnants of the portal were shimmering away, "_What kind of monsters?_"

"_I know not._" Elivor was shakily standing up now, "_They were horrors, mutated, elf-like yet monstrous. I wish never to see another creature like that again!_"

"_What d'you mean, elf-like?_" Maederhwen asked, bewildered,

"_They had the features of elves: a head, limbs and flesh. But such horrendous deformity, beastlike features and vicious appearance!_" He was shaking and not because of his wound, "_The creatures of nightmares and they shall haunt my dreams tonight!_"

"_But,_" Draco looked back nervously to the portal, "_if they're there...and...Hari..._" Tears shone in his eyes as the thought formed in his head. Maederhwen too was filled with dread. Elivor was one of the finest mages she knew and, if he got injured so quickly - _No! _She scolded herself, _It's just because he was taken by surprise, is all! And he ain't that badly hurt..._

She looked up to the empty gateway, looking innocent enough apart from the trail of blood coming from it, "_But,_" She said, aloud, "_the whole void can't be infested with them, surely!_"

"_I know not._" Elivor sat down, pouring a glass of Bloodwine. Maederhwen wrinkled her nose; she hated the stuff, "_They seeemed to be everywhere I looked._"

"_Did you see any portals to Valivial in the void?_" Draco asked, in a small voice,

"_No._" Elivor shook his head, "_One thing I did notice is a strange inactivity. Normally, there is at least one portal open at all times to stabilise the time difference between the mortal and immortal world. It seems the void is sealed off now and I would not be surprised with the infestation there!_"

"_Why the hell weren't we told?_" demanded Maederhwen, stamping her foot in irritation. Her husband didn't have to get hurt like this,

"_Would any messanger be able to get through?_" Elivor glared, some of his old sarcasm coming into his voice, "_Without being torn to pieces, that is?_"  
That stung. Maederhwen's lips curled into a snarl, "_Alright, alright, no need to get like that on me._" She faced the portal, her mind becoming set as it always did, "_Okay, where's my mace?_"

"_No, dear wife!_" gasped Elivor, horrified by such a notion, "_There are too many of them! You will be crushed like a cockroach!_"

"_Let 'em try!_" She snarled, glaring at the empty gate, willing it to open, "_I'll take 'em any day!_"

"_No!_" Draco wailed. Looking round, she saw that he looked as though he might cry, "_I don't want anyone else to die. If Elivor can't defeat them, we should just leave them alone. We should just wait._"

"_Aw, but Draco!_" groaned Maederhwen, "_I can take them! I've lived a hundred years in the wilderness in my life and, if I can take on Wargs, I can take on these!_"

"_I-I just don't see any point, though._" The poor boy slumped in a chair, burying his face in his hands, "_If Hari's gone, then-_"

"_Who said that he's dead?_" Maederhwen said, without really thinking. When his wide grey eyes shot up, she immediately grew hot and flustered, not knowing what to say next. Comforting people was not her forte, after all, "_I mean...there's no proof yet...he could have been warned and..._" The words came out before she could stop them. They sounded stupid and improbable, the rambling of someone trying to convince themselves as well as other people. It was useless to go on.

Draco's face dropped into his hands and his whole body slumped over in despair. Maederhwen wanted desperately to say something, to try and comfort him but, no matter how hard she searched her brains, she couldn't find anything that would work. However, Elivor didn't seem to realise this problem and just said,

"_Well, we should call a meeting with the others and discuss our next move. Since the Prince of Valivial cannot be with us,_" Maederhwen could have slapped him for the insensitivity he showed to Draco, "_I suggest that my wife will be leading the meeting._"

Elivor immediately shrank into his cat form, leaving his clothes in a pile and slipping through the crack in the door. Maederhwen swallowed. She dreaded having to be alone with Draco, so grief-stricken and fearing the worst, _Must be a human thing. They do it all the time. But, then again, some elves do that as well._ She itched the back of her neck. The silence growing between them was so painful. She wanted to comfort the poor boy but couldn't think of what to say that wouldn't make it worse.

She couldn't help but feel protective over Draco. Like a she-wolf over its cub. Maybe it was because he was a human (or mostly human) and they were always portrayed in Elven society as foreign, vulnerable, delicate creatures with short lives that could so easily be snuffed out. She had seen that most prominantly in him when she first saw him being pushed around by the Fanka Gang. That was why she had asked him to marry her, she knew it now, so she could protect him. Not just from physical but from emotional harm. She didn't know the exact details of his relationship with the Prince of Valivial but she always had a terrible vision of Hari pushing him around like Caradfanka had, hurting him and bullying him into submission.

Not that she knew the Prince that well. From what he had heard from Veriel, though, it was a possibility. She hated to think about it. She never wanted to see Draco in pain. Not again, _So, what do I do now?_ She chewed her chapped lip while trying to look anywhere but the boy. This didn't work, though, as the sound of his crying soon reached her ears, insistantly tugging at her heart, _Take his mind off it. _The solution came to her. It was a gamble but it was better than this,

"_Say, Draco_." She gave him a sideward glance and was relieved to see him lift his face from his hands at last, "_I never told you how I lived in the wilderness for a hundred years, did I_?"

"_No_." His voice was still cracked; he sounded like he wasn't really interested but Maederhwen went on anyway,

"_Well, when I was about a hundred_," She sat down on the floor with her legs crossed in front of him, "_I got this nurse to look after me while Athara was away. Veriel went with her so I was alone with that monster. I don't mind telling you she was an evil old bitch. She locked me in the celler for stupid little things like not making my bed in the morning or not folding my clothes properly. Not that she ever beat me. I was a princess, after all, and the cost was too high to hurt me physically. That didn't stop her doing some pretty evil things anyway._"

"_Didn't you try to fight back?_" Draco asked, _Great! He's taking interest!_

"_Of course, I did! Not that I took matters into my own hands straightaway. I was more gentle than I am now. More civilised and delicate, more naive. I tried telling the servants but they couldn't do a thing. 'Not without the Queen's consent', they said. So, I started pulling a couple of pranks to get back at her._ _The worst I ever did was throw Bloodwine down her favourite dress on purpose. Now, that was funny!_" She grinned at the memory, "_It was a white one too and all! She had to burn it because it wouldn't come out!_"

Her heart leapt as a small smile made its involuntary way onto Draco's face,

"_Of course, she knew it was me straight off. She carted me down to the celler again and threw me with the rats, saying I'd be there until Athara came back and I should be thankful if she remembers to feed me._"

"_What did you do?_" Draco asked, his hands now fully away from his face, his expression aghast. Maederhwen put her best evil grin on her face,

"_I'd been down there loads of times by then. Plenty of time to build myself a little escape route. I'd bashed through a couple brick in the wall that I'd loosened and made a route to the basement kitchens. Good thing I'm small or I wouldn't have got through that hole. There was a little door that led into the grounds from there. So, I got through there and took off out of the palace and out of the city like a bat out of hell. I was planning on finding Athara but that little idea got squashed. I'm useless at finding stuff. I just wandered about in the wilderness, getting myself totally lost. I kept myself going with the thought of Athara for about a week and then, I started feeling, well, resentment towards her. She'd hired the nurse, after all. She was the one who made me suffer, in my mind._"

"_So, you stopped looking for her?_" Asking questions was another good sign, though the tears on his face would not dry,

"_Pretty much. I just stopped and stayed where I was. Somewhere around the border between Alqualond and Valivial, I think. I don't remember too well. Anyway, I felt that I would be about as welcome in the palace as a plague rat with that nurse on the prowl and Athara would be right on her side. Besides, I kinda liked it in the wilderness. I'd got used to the life of a beast; eating only when you're hungry, sleeping only when you're tired and attacking anything that came in my way without having to pay the fine._

"_Anyway, it did take a bit of adjusting and a fair few injuries but I got myself a territory. A little place round a river. I lost my clothes along the way and I had to make new ones from the skins of the things I hunted. In the summer, that is. I was often bare-naked in the summer!_" She grinned at the memories,"_Those old clothes were useless in that place anyway. I lost quite a few things during my time in the wilderness but I also gained things to replace them. Better things. I lost the abilities one gains in civilisation, like the ability to read, write and talk. But, I gained the ability to read the animals' behaviour, communicate back and make a place for myself among them._

"_Ah,_" She leaned back, smiling in nostalgia, "_those were the days. You never needed to think too much or worry about anything. Everything's so much simpler back then. So long as you follow the natural order, you're fine. And that's easy!_" Draco looked much more interested now,

"_So, you managed to fit in well?_"

"_Took a while. About two years but yeah._" Maederhwen nodded, keeping the big grin on her face, "_I got into the habit of eating meat too. There's something you don't see in Elves! The wolves were the first to accept me; they were my neighbours. Our territories were right next to each other. I mean, normal wolves. Not Wargs. They're still as big as those little horses you get here-what's their names? Shettle?_"

"_Shetland?_"

"_Yeah, that's the one. So, I got on well with them. Funny. I only remember the good stuff when I was in the wild really well. I know I had some troubles but I don't remember them as well. It's good to remember only the good stuff._" She stopped, as she saw by his face what effect her words were having, _Damn it!_ She didn't know how but the tears were starting up again, "_My best memory is chasing off a load of poachers from the pack. Orcs who couldn't find any coaches to stick up. That was what got me a place in their pack. I gave up my territory, gave it to them and lived with them ever since._

"_Anyway, I spent about a hundred years there and it's safe to say I was well and truly wild. I was running about on all fours, only knew how to bark, growl and howl, stopped wearing clothes altogether and practically forgot about my Elven life. When I was cold, I would huddle up with my wolf brothers. When I was hurt, I would let them lick my wounds. I was allowed to play with the pups and I defended our territory like all the others. Until, I was found, that is._" She felt her face darken as she remembered, "_I was defending our territory from a hunting party when I was captured. Some bugger thought I would be a prime exibit in a menegarie. They just grabbed me off the ground and hauled me off to the palace._

"_To say I didn't like it is an understatement. I know how those zoo and menegarie animals feel and it's awful. Being trapped in a cage when you should be out there, free as a bird. Weird creatures with staring eyes and sharp whips always having their eyes on you. And, most of all, calling desperately for help until your throat is sore._

"_That was the second time I felt abandoned and it just felt even worse that time around. I was put on display in a travelling party of gypsies. I didn't know what the hell was going on back then and it was worse that way. Always in the cage, never let out and no one really caring for me. I may have been wild but I still yearned for some kindness from those strangers. But, nothing. They presented me to even more gawking strangers, calling me 'the Feral Elf of Ronyeva'. That's the name of the river where they got me. And, there was me, banging on the bars, howling to my family, wishing nothing more than to be let out. Then, they presented me at the palace._"

"_And, they recognised you?_" Draco asked,

"_Well, Veriel did. It was just after the Prince of Valivial dumped her,_" Seeing the extra tears in his eyes, she moved on quickly from the subject, "_and she just whispered in Athara's ear that I looked familiar. Of course, I didn't recognise them but I did feel something for them, though I didn't know why. Athara stopped the show and let me out of my cage. I was still tethered, of course, but Athara recognised me._"

"_What happened to them? The ones who captured you?_"

"_Nothing much._" Maederhwen shrugged, "_They didn't know it was me so they just got off with a whipping. So, Athara took me back in to the palace. It took about ages to stop me trying to escape to the wild. Even longer to re-educate me. I'm telling you, you wouldn't believe how hard it is to learn language. It is __**so**__ difficult!_"  
"_You didn't re-learn to read or write after that, though, didn't you?_"

"_Nope. I felt those abilities were a bit pointless really. Besides, I didn't like Athara that much. I had hoped when she took me out of the cage, she would put me back in the wild but no! She shoved me in a bigger prison! At least, that was what I thought back then. I didn't trust elves that much in general. I hated having to wear clothes, eating leaves and having to walk on two legs. I mean,_" She threw up her hands in annoyance, "_who came up with that? It's so slow and so impractical. Sure, you can be bigger and can do a couple of silly little things but I still don't like it even now. I've always felt more comfortable in forests and wilderness. I love this forest here. It's awesome! Nice and big, cool creatures and a nice big lake. What more can you ask?_"

At that moment, the doors opened again and Elivor, along with the twins, Herenda, Noalith and Marilla. Noalith had that annoying look on his face that told her he already knew everything that was going on. Herenda looked troubled, glancing at the portal and trail of blood that had been forgotten. Marilla looked more worried, twisting her hair around her finger in a nervous sort of way. The twins still had those emotionless doll-faces but something about the way they clasped their hands showed a hidden anxiety.

Elivor morphed back into human form, donned his robe with his back turned to the crowd as though he'd done it a thousand times and stood. The eight of them took their places on sofas and chairs, Maederhwen taking the biggest one. Draco sat next to her on her left hand side and Elivor sat on her right. Once all were settled, Maederhwen stood up,

"_Right, I dunno if Elivor told you so or not but we can't reach Valivial now. There are a big horde of...beasts in the void between worlds. We don't know how they got there, what they are or what they're capable of. Elivor here doesn't really want to find out. No portals are open and we can assume that all transport between worlds can't be done. We don't know how long this will be and we can't check. We can't keep any portals open without letting any of those things into Hogwarts. That's a risk we can't take for obvious reasons._"

"_No portals are open at all?_" Herenda interrupted, adopting a professional tone,

"_No._" Maederhwen confirmed,

"_Then, the time difference between this world and our world will be extremely unstable. A hundred years or a few seconds could have gone by in Valivial in the few moments we have spent here. It is impossible to know. I know this; my father is one of those in charge of keeping the safety portal open. Therefore, it is my opinion that we should wait a while to see if any messangers appear. It may be that time has slowed in Valivial compared to here._"  
"_We can't be sure, though._" argued Elivor, "_And we cannot wait either._"

Maederhwen sighed as the argument went on without her, _This is gonna be a long night..._

* * *

A/N: Not the best chapter but, give me some credit! Writer's block is a hard thing to conquer.


	8. Antion

A/N: I haven't been paying as much attention to this story as I'd like to. I'm just lacking inspiration at the moment. I hope this is okay.

**miss quirky bookworm: **Yeah, I really wanted to convey how upset Draco is about it in the writing.

**evildictionaryninja: **All will be answered here!

**cyiusblack: **Again, I haven't really done what you asked but at least I got this done!

**neverfall16: **Yeah, I do that a lot. I'm my own worst critic, like you said.

**Knightvanilla: **Whoa, this has got to be the longest review I've got in my whole fanfic-writing career! I'm so glad you like my writing. As for Hari...well, he's not the most sane person you meet so his behaviour is liable to swift change.

* * *

_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 8: Antion**_

On a lofty hilltop, with only a winding path to connect it to the road, lay a monastary. Far away from the hubbub of towns and cities, the closest civilisation was three small villages named Mela, Turi and Falla. Its name was given due to the deities worshipped at this particular chapel: Meleniel, deity of love, with her two daughters Turil, deity of war, and Fallena, deity of healing.

The hill was surrounded by a thorny ring of knarled bushes, whom visitors had to navigate carefully through and get stung several times no matter how careful you were. Only the most zealous followers came here. The priests within were never seen in daylight and always wore clothes that shrouded all of their bodies, leaving only their eyes visible. Not even the priests had seen each other's faces or so it was said. It was not well guarded but no one had every laid seige to it. It was the perfect place to hide away from the world. When night fell, lights illuminated the place from the windows. If anyone had been close enough, they would have seen a window opened with a melancholy figure looking out at the stars.

Hari gazed out at the arranged stars in the gloomy sky, _Every year, the same path. An eternal damnation to tread the same way every year. Never changing, never heeding desires. Oh, is my life doomed to be as the stars? A dreaded eternity of loneliness?_ These thoughts had been circling in his head ever since he had moved into the monastary.

The day when he had left Ariador had been a nightmare. The wounded, betrayed faces of his mother and father had forcibly imprinted themselves behind his eyes and still smouldered, burning into his brain. His mother had wept so much it seemed to shatter her soul and demanded forcibly to tell him why he had done it. He well remembered how upset he had felt because he could not answer her. His father...he had never seen such a fury possess him. Hari was sure he would have been struck and would have welcomed it.

Manastreth had silenced both of them, though, and calmly told them that it would do no good to shout or use violence. Hari had tried to tell him that he wanted this, that it was what he deserved, but the Drow would not listen. Keeping a steady tone of voice all the time, Manastreth had told them his plan; that he should take Hari to a monastary and awaken the mercy within him. Hari had not thought much to this plan but, now he was here, he could see why.

A priest's life was harder than one thought. Nearly completely cut off from society, they had to support themselves. Growing their own food, pumping their own water and, most of all, having to clean the place yourself. For a Prince, this was a whole new way of life. He had servants do this sort of thing normally and he struggled hopelessly with the stiff waterpump and the stubborn sage plants; neither would yield to him. Nature itself seemed to make everything difficult for him just to spite him.

Everything worked smoothly for Manastreth, though. The waterpump became smooth and the plants did their utmost for him. It was not surprising; he had obeyed the deities even without meaning to. His soul was pure and unstained. Nature must be able to see into the souls of elves. It must be able to see into them and judge them.

The door swung open. Looking around, Hari saw a shrouded priest enter with golden eyes standing out against the white of his robe. When the door closed, Hari took off his hood. Manastreth did the same and revealed his concerned face, "_Can you not sleep?_"

"_Never can._" Hari rested his head on the windowsill, sighing in despair, "_Not one so wretched as I could ever be blessed with sleep._"

Manastreth sighed, "_You see only darkness within yourself. Why can you not see the light that I see?_"

"_What light?_"

"_The light of your guilt._" Manastreth laid his new dark hand on Hari's face. It was warm and tender, just like him, "_You are grieving for your actions. That shows you know what is right and what is wrong._"

"_What is the point of knowing,_" Hari closed his eyes, "_if I cannot act it?_"

"_You shall see. I shall be the one who will make you see._" Manastreth smiled, "_We have a long time to do so. Now, tell me what is really on your mind._"

Hari could now see why Manastreth was Noalith's father. Even though he did not have the Rinatula, he have a gift of being able to tell when Hari was hiding something from him. Letting out a sigh of defeat, he said, "_It is this. We have been in the monastary for two months. We are not far from Ariador and, yet, why is there no response from Draco?_"

"_Draco?_" Hari realised with a twinge of guilt that he had never mentioned Draco once,

"_My one and only. He is a human and my servant but I love him. I cannot fathom Meleniel's whim but I know I would do anything for him. I would die and kill for him. I __**have **__killed for him._"

"_You love him?_" A wide smile spread across Manastreth's face, "_That is wonderful news! These feelings you have, are they returned?_"  
Hari swallowed. He had sworn to himself to take the secret of the love potion he had used on Draco to the grave and he dreaded Manastreth's reaction if he told him. It was the same feeling he had felt about the secret that he killed Manastreth's children. Now that secret was out in the open, many others were at risk. They kept floating to the surface of his mind more frequently nowadays. It was so easy to ignore them before so, why now?

"_In a way, yes._" Hari said, at last. Manastreth did not look satisfied but he also seemed to pick up the fact that Hari did not want to discuss it. To stop him asking, though, he added, "_But I fear his silence. He must know of my bloodlusting acts by now. Athara said that she would send the message immediately. So, why has he not sent all his hate and rejection to me now? Why must he torment me with waiting?_"

"_He may be simply confused._" Manastreth's kind hand was now upon his shoulder, his kind words reaching to his soul that was threatening to dive into despair once more, "_If I had loved you, maybe he may not be able to understand. Give him time. You know that time here is much longer than in human time._"

"_I would it were not so._" Hari sighed. Wearily, he hung his head and let Manastreth embrace him. Manastreth was indeed like a second father to him; a father who seemed to be blind to all darkness and capable to see light in any shadow. In the short time Hari had known him, he regretted his smear campaign of him that he had governed after Manastreth's arrest. He regretted having tortured him in the slavecamp. He regretted every sin he had committed against the Drow, _In his dark skin, there is purity. In my white skin, there is evil. What a strange world this is where no aspect of appearance can tell one's character.

* * *

_

It was an hour before Manastreth was sure Hari was fast asleep, _Poor boy. He cannot see light. All he sees is darkness. What a terrible existance that light cannot penetrate darkness._ With sympathy weighing his heart, he carefully gathered the young elf in his arms and put him into bed. Hari was a deep sleeper; he was not easily woken but he dreamt often. He knew this from watching his perturbed slumber for a few weeks now.

He had heard the name Draco uttered many times, though, when he spoke of him, he spoke in English which Manastreth could not understand. One of the greater gaps in his knowledge was not being able to speak a word of human tongue. He knew Drow tongue, being his native language, and Elven tongue which he had learned in his time living in the wilderness. Learning English was something that came from a higher Elven education, the sort Manastreth never received. He supposed that he should learn it sometime. He'd always wanted to see the human world.

Manastreth had asked the High Priest to grant them a room with three beds so he, Hari and Melda could sleep together. Arioni had desired to return to his hometown so, with a tearful farewell and promises never to forget, they had parted. He had chosen the bed in the middle with Hari on his left and Melda on his right. She had fallen asleep hours ago. She was such a devoted sort and was very used to working hard to provide for others. He knew this well. For she had worked seemingly tirelessly to do the task Manastreth could not accomplish with only one arm. Those hundred years of raising her and taking care of her had been hard but rewarding work. It was wonderful to see her so accomplished.

Manastreth felt at home in the monastary. The simple life of a priest, he was sure, was his calling. Devoting one's life to help the poor and sick was what Manastreth loved to do. War and fighting had taken up most of his life and it was so good to get away from all that at last. He understood even less now why wars had to be fought at all and why blood had to be shed for just ideas.

With those thoughts in mind, Manastreth stood up, put his cowl back on and strode from the room. Down the ancient cloistered corridors he had grown to love; he had seen this sort of architecture when he had first arrived in Valivial and knew it to be extremely old. Through the main church room and out into the fresh air. The moon was above the building, directly above, and making the white stone almost glow. The dark mass of land stretched out as far as he could see with a small upward-pointing pinacle where Ariador stood far in the distance,

"_A lovely view, do you think?_" He asked, turning around, smiling benignly at the murderous-looking bandit.

Manastreth was quite surprised by his appearance. He had known he was there, of course, but never seen him. For one, he was a human. Showing the first signs of elf transformation as a human would after spending some time immersed in Elven ways, but unmistakably human. His ears were lacking the long points and he was too small to be a young elf. He was little more than a boy, in fact. He looked about twelve or thirteen. Manastreth's parental instincts stirred again, reaching for the lost thing.

He had known about the boy ever since he got here, in fact. He had noticed some of the food gathered going missing and the muddied footprints around the crops. Manastreth, upon realising this, had spared some and left them outside the gates with a note of good will written on a scrap of parchment. He always found the food gone when he returned and this had given him heart. He had not told the other priests for he was determined to see whoever it was face to face. Now, on this pleasant, solitary moonlit night, was the perfect time.

The boy had a feral look upon its face, like a rival wolf challenging another for territory, and was clutching a rusted sword that looked far too big for him. It was raised, ready to strike, "_Lower your sword. This is no place for a fight._" No change. In fact, the boy made a clumsy charge, swinging the ill-aimed sword at him. With all gentleness, he took hold of the sorry little creature's wrist and guided the blade away. Now, he could get a good look at him.

He had the awful look of someone who had gone without food for a very short time and Manastreth at once regretted not leaving more out for him. He had many terrible-looking cuts from the thorns which looked uncleaned and infected. The mass of hair on his head had overgrown, becoming stuck together with mud, and, once it had been cleaned, it would be in gentle waves. The eyes were wide and staring, two circles of leaf-green glaring up with defiance. The limbs were squirming, trying to break free but Manastreth held him firm. He was speaking but it was in English and Manastreth could not understand a word of it, _He probably did not understand my note, either._ He thought, with a stab of sadness, _He must have no idea what I say._

"_Please, stop._" He held up a flat palm to try and indicate his meaning, using the most gentle voice he could, "_Come inside with me._" First, he gestured to the door and then to himself. Still, the little one tried to break free, like a feral kitten foolishly trying to escape a loving rescuer, "_I mean you no harm._" He raised his empty palms, releasing the boy in the process. Manastreth's heart gave a leap when he did not try to run away. A plan was already forming, _If I can bring him to Hari, we can make sense of each other. He is surely fluent in human tongue and will be able to understand this runaway,_

He held out a kind hand to the little one. After glaring at him for a few moments, he reached out a small, thin hand and took it with a desperate eagerness. Manastreth led him two steps before the boy, in a fit of despair, clung to Manastreth's white robe and began sobbing. His heartstrings tugged almost painfully for the poor creature, _He must have stumbled into Valivial by accident. The dear thing must have been so frightened, all alone in a strange world and no way of returning._

Feeling tears in his eyes, Manastreth knelt and clasped the little one to him. The poor thing sobbed into his shoulder with relief, clinging to Manastreth as though his very life depended on it. The sword lay forgotten beside them. After his sobs had quieted a little, Manastreth slowly stood and carried him inside. Once within, he relaxed a little, glad to be inside probably. He kept his head buried in Manastreth's shoulder all the way back to his room, still frightened of this strange new building.

The small bathroom the three of them shared was still a little steamy from Hari's turn. The waterpump was still warm so Manastreth began to fill the small bath. Small for someone like him but fairly big for someone like the boy. Therefore, he only filled it halfway and attempted to communicate to the boy that it was for him. After a moment, he comprehended and began to take off his ruined clothes. Manastreth began searching around for a suitable set of clothing for the boy since the ones he had been wearing were no good now, covered in mud and hopelessly torn.

The little one was only half his size and child's clothing were rare in the Elven lands. So, he compromised by finding a clean white shirt that would probably fit the boy like a robe. When he turned, he saw the boy washing himself vigourously with the cloth, trying his best to get the dried stains from his skin. Manastreth gently took the cloth from him and did a much better and gentler job to cleaning him.

Once all the skin was cleaned, he could see the boy had an olive sort of complexion and curly brown hair. A sweet-looking boy in all aspects. Once he was dried and dressed, Manastreth decided it was time to try and introduce himself. He laid a hand upon his chest and said, "_Manastreth._" It took the boy a few moments to comprehend. He too laid a hand on Manastreth's and repeated the name to show he understood.

Manastreth then laid a hand on the boy's chest and held up the other to indicate a request. To his surprise, the boy frowned, looking upset. He shook his head, saying something in English. Like him, it took Manastreth a while to realise what he was saying. The poor thing did not know his own name. Indeed, Manastreth's eyes soon picked out a dark bruise on the top of his head, made by some hard strike to the head from some time ago.

More sorrow for the poor thing's case consumed him once again, along with a determination to resolve it. His instinct told him to name the child so, after a moment's thought, he placed his fingers upon the little one's chest and said, "_Antion._" The name meant 'enduring', which he felt fitting. The boy formed his new name and a delightful bright smile illuminated his face.

* * *

The sun filtered through the room from the window as morning broke and the bells sounded high above, _Another day begins!_ Melda's eyes opened and she shot up, wide awake at once. She, unlike the Prince, had adjusted perfectly. Every task assigned, she threw herself into it with vigour and enthusiasm. She loved the monastary and everyone who came to it.

She thanked the deities every day that her father (she knew Manastreth was not her blood father but she knew no one else to give that title and he deserved it) had picked her from the ruins of a destroyed family home when she was but a babe and had taken it upon himself to raise her in a farmhouse away from civilisation. Where they had to grow their own food and sustain themselves on their own since Manastreth had not dared to go into a village due to being a Drow and the prejudices against them.

Though he never spoke ill of them, Melda had never wanted to go to the village either. One, she would not go anywhere without her father at that point. Two, she did not want people asking awkward questions about where she came from. She could not bare to see her father taken away and being taken to some stuck-up Elf family. Again, though she always caught herself before she got herself too immersed, she did not trust her own race as much as did Drows. An odd view on life, considering she was an Elf herself but, though her skin was pale, she liked to pretend it was black and she was a Drow herself.

She sat up and only then did she realise what was going on. Both her father and the Prince were up and talking but someone else was there. A small boy clinging to Manastreth with the dependence she had only seen with Arioni in the slave camp. He was tiny, so tiny. She had never seen anyone so small unless they had Regressed, which was not an uncommon sight in the slave camp.

When she stood up, the boy looked up, his green eyes wide and amazed. He was a sweet little thing, there was no denying it, but Melda could see something distinctly un-Elven about him. The rounded ears, for one. And the strange language he spoke. Like her father, Melda had not learned a word of English and so could not understand what he was saying. And neither could her father.

The Prince seemed to be translating what the boy was saying into Elvish. Her attention was drawn when the Prince translated the boy's strange language into, "_Who is that beautiful lady?_"  
Manastreth smiled warmly at the boy, who smiled back in response. One could not help but smile when Manastreth smiled at you. It was infectious, Melda knew that well. Manastreth answered the boy (or, rather, the Prince translated), "_My daughter, Melda._" Melda's heart always swelled with pride whenever he called her his daughter. She knew how wonderful he was, no matter how little known among the Elves it was, and was honoured that he considered her, a mere Elf, his daughter,

"_Melda,_" Manastreth turned up to her, "_this is your new brother, Antion._"

Grinning, Melda sat down and held out her hand to him. The little boy smiled back with all the infectiousness of his new father and took it in greeting. She could just imagine him as an elf now, probably with long waves of tawny hair and an angelic face but still, she hoped, keeping that pretty smile. She tried not to judge by looks, like her father, but she would love him forever for that sweet smile.

It was just then that her father pulled off his cowl and showed the boy his face. That gentle, black face framed with long sheets of white hair with the soft golden eyes that Melda had loved upon first sight. It confused her, therefore, when the boy skittered back, as though terrified. Manastreth too looked perplexed. The speech the boy was jibbering was translated by the Prince into, "_You look like the one who brought him here._"

"_A Drow?_" Manastreth looked even more worried and Melda could understand this. She had been told by her father when she was about thirty that he was not like others of his kind. She had been told of the horrors his kind had committed, for horrors they were no matter how hard her father had tried to lessen them. Through the Prince's translations, the story came through.

The last thing the boy remembered was being hurled through a portal by the Drow, a female with long golden hair, and being trapped in a cart. The cart, according to the boy, had been a horrible place full of terrible, sharp instruments that had made him scared to sleep. He had stolen himself out when the Drow went to hunt her food and had lived in the wild ever since.

Her father and the Prince was extremely troubled by the end of the story. The Prince voiced his views after a little prodding from her father, "_If this Drow is in Valivial, it cannot mean good. For I know that description. She is the lady of one of the Warlords, an expert magister and dabbler of the Necromatic Arts. If she is able to open portals into the human world and unleash the monstrous undead beasts she creates, there will be hell to pay!_"

"_We do not know how long ago it was, though._" Her father stated, sounding more worried than he looked. Melda held Antion to her, listening intently to the conversation. Though Antion could not understand them, he clung to her, sensing the unrest in their tones, "_The Akhohr may have heard of this and sealed off any portals._"

"_One must always be open._" The Prince argued, "_To maintain the time difference. Without it, the human world and the world of Elves are completely unconnected and it could take years to reconnect._"

"_I am sure it is a risk that must be taken._" Her father said, trying to maintain calm while the Prince was growing more distressed, "_Draco will be kept safe, I promise. For now, we must worry for poor Antion and find this Drow warlord mistress._"

* * *

A/N: Okay, I am officially stuck as to what to do next with this story. Any ideas? Please?


	9. The Temptress

A/N: I never thought I would get this done! Writer's block and lack of time combined make this very difficult to do. But, at least this got done.

**neverfall16: **Thanks for the ideas!

**miss quirky bookworm: **Which character?

**evildictionaryninja: **Isn't he just! You always need a cute character to just go 'aww' at.

_**_________________________________________________________________**_

_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 9: The Temptress**_

The meeting had come to very little and was disbanded very quickly. It was frustrating that no one could decide whether to wait for word from Valivial or risk their necks in the Void. Elivor had strongly apposed the latter and had furiously shown them all his wound when Maederhwen kept up her opinion of charging in. Draco, however, had stayed silent throughout all the meeting. Only voicing that he did not want any of them to be hurt once near the end. He seemed convinced that the Prince of Valivial was dead and nothing anyone could logically say could assuage his worries.

Everyone went away with the wish that they could have said something to him. Even the twins worried about him as they retreated to their room. One thing they had managed to agree on was to all sleep here tonight in case of any word or an update. Draco would not go to bed but stayed in the centre room, his head in his hands. He had pulled off his Suppression Rosary and his hair spilled over his hands like a white-blond waterfall. Noalith volunteered to stay up to watch him with a full plate of fruit to keep himself awake. He felt he was the best person to stay with him.

The Princess of Alqualond would only be insensitive and make him worse, her Prince even more so. The Princesses of Ithil'orad would not be even interested in him, their servant distracted. Besides, he himself was a close friend of Hari's and he felt it his duty to meet him should he come back...or if he came back at all...He caught himself as he was thinking these thoughts, astonished with himself.

Noalith was rattled. A sensation fairly new to him and almost frightening. He did not know what these creatures were but he would not risk a confrontation. He specilised in stealth, after all, not all out conflict. That was Hari's department and with him gone...

Another new sensation was coming upon him as he contemplated the situation. Was it worry or panic? Yes, he worried for Hari's safety if he was caught in the void with them. And, yes, he was panicking slightly due to it. He considered Hari the closest thing to a best friend he had. If he was hurt...if he was dead...The apple he was holding cracked as his grip tightened on it, the cold juice running down his wrist. Adrenaline was pumping through him, making him more and more nervous as he considered the possibilities.

His usually reliable mind and gift could not help him. His gift could only find Draco's despairing thoughts which did not help him one bit. His mind could see no openings that did not hold too much risk. He could slip into the void to do some surveillance to get a good look of the creatures but he was only an untrained half-Drow who could be easily overcome and killed. And, if they got into the undefended Hogwarts, there would be utter hell to pay.

The Princess of Alqualond was strong, there was no denying it, but she was untrained and primative. She could not recognise risks and would get herself easily killed. The Prince's gift of Kelvara would not help either, being so small and harmless. If his brother was here, maybe, but he was trapped in Valivial. He had talent in magic but he had been struck down so easily. The Princesses of Ithil'orad were trained to fight in their own way but, like the others, they had their limits. Ithil'orad, unlike Valivial, was not well known for its prowess in fighting and victories in battle.

No, their only asset was Hari, a trained fighter and intelligent enough to make a successful plan. But, he was gone. Lost, trapped or even dead.

Noalith hated this. Not knowing everything was something he was not used to and something that frightened him. He had felt so safe in being able to read people's minds to garner enough information to make a successful analysis and make a good plan of action that would undoubtably work. Logic was his safe haven, something that never failed him. Never had he been thrown into a situation where he knew nothing and could do nothing.

He wanted to get up. He wanted to pace but he knew this would do him and Draco no good. Now that he was truly unnerved, his usual carelessness for feelings was gone. Draco's thoughts were loud and becoming more distraught, winding him up even more. As was his sobbing. Noalith could hear the poor boy's grieving, _He's dead...he's dead, I know it..._

Noalith briefly wondered whether this would be a time when the potion would leave him and the love would become true. After all, as they said, you never truly know what you have until you have lost it. That saying, that Noalith had never truly understood (since he never had anything to lose in the first place), was making more and more sense to him. The longer Hari's absense, the more he was needed.

Giving up, Noalith crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of Firewhisky. It was not the same as the whiskey back in Lindaria but it did the trick. He poured himself a large glass and downed it all in one go, allowing the warmth to fill him and to ease the panic he felt. He would not normally turn to the bottle for support, he drank simply to unwind after a long day. Now, with these alien feelings coursing through him, he wanted nothing more to allieve them. He felt that, once his panic was soothed, he could think a little more clearly.

He did not worry about the drink affecting his thought processes. As if a simple human beverage could hinder his thoughts, even if he was in a human body himself. He poured himself another glass, having finished the first one much too soon and still not feeling his usual calm self. The Firewhiskey was doing the trick nicely but it just wasn't enough. The next glass increased the feeling but it still was not enough. Perhaps another glass...yes, that did the trick nicely..._ah, this is a good drink_...

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As the portal closed behind her, the sound of snoring reached her ears. Soft, muffled through the door. Raising her head, she cast a blood-sensing spell upon herself. Eight people, all asleep. Six snug in their beds, two in the main room. One was slumped across what might be a sofa, in a position that suggested to her that he had been very drunk beforehand. The other was curled up in a tight ball.

Quietly as she could, she took hold of the door and pushed it open. No alarm, no sensing spells, they did not expect an intruder. In fact, they were probably hoping for one as a sign from the Elven world. So desperate that they would take any sign. Glancing around, she saw the drunken figure was a half-Drow in human form, an empty drinks decanter at his side. She supposed it was Manastreth's bastard-born that she had heard about. He had his face-shape and hairstyle after all.

The other person still in the main room was unmistakably with human blood. A pretty blond half-elf that almost seemed to glow in the half-light. Her eyes lit up. This was better than what she could hope for. The Prince's human Nienna right in her lap! _Stay calm. Stay calm. You do not have him yet._ Creeping over the thick carpet, she kept one eye on the others through the sensing spell she still had in place. Still asleep, still unaware. They must have been relying on their drunken watchman to alert them.

She reached the boy and found him looking utterly wretched and grief-stricken. His cheeks were red and streaked with dried tears and his position suggested that he had cried himself to sleep, _Must have thought the Prince died in the Void and is grieving. Poor little fool. _Glancing around, she thought over her options. She could just carry him off and risk a big fight later or she could wake him up to put him at ease and risk the others hearing her. He could shout out and any attempts to stifle him would just agitate him further, making it harder to make him cooperate.

Deciding to take a gamble, she shook his shoulder gently, "Wake up." She whispered in his ear, though she supposed it was hard for him to hear her over his drunken friend's snores, _That bastard-born is more unlike his father than I thought he ever would be!_ The boy's sleep was light and he was woken easily. His eyes fluttered open, showing red rims around them, "Hello, little one." She said, with a gentle smile. He took the bait and sat up,

"Are you from Valivial?" He asked, in a desperate whisper. She was fortunate enough to arrive at night and the lights were dimmed. He could not tell that she was a Drow, _Too perfect! This is too perfect!_

"Yes, I am." It was no lie, as the portal she had made had been from Valivial. His assumption was complete and he sat up at once,

"Is Hari alright? Has he been...?" He could not finish and he closed his eyes in pain. Then, the half-light caught something shimmering on his eyelids. Something that disappeared as soon as it had appeared, _A potion to deceive him? Oh, the Prince of Valivial is more conniving than I give him credit for!_

"Come with me." She stood, holding out a hand, "There is much to inform you."

The naive boy took it and allowed himself to be led through to the portal room, only pausing to gaze with astonishment at the drunken half-Drow. She could have sworn she heard him mutter, "Of all people to get drunk." He paused as they entered, "Shouldn't we tell the others where I am?"

"They will not notice you gone." She purred, without missing a beat to make up the lie, "I am sure you know of the time difference between the worlds."

"Has that been stabilized now?" He asked, a little louder than she wanted him to,

"Yes, enough for now." She nodded, distractedly. Feeding him these little lies were doing the trick perfectly. He was quiet and unresisting of her actions with his more alert friends all unaware. The portal was up in an instant and she held out a hand, though making sure to pull her hood over her face a little to stop all being ruined by the new light. Again, he took it without a moment's thought and allowed her to pull him into the Void.

While she guided him through the strange swirling colour, she thought of her next move. It would not be long before he discovered who she really was so she had to close the portal as soon as they got through to prevent an escape or losing him. What to do with him was becoming clearer, as was the gate to their destination. She clasped his hand tighter as they stepped neatly through. Reaching back surruptiously, she did the counter-enchantment to close shut the portal behind them. He raised his pale face and visibly relaxed. He was clearly one of those humans who could fit in with and enjoy elven society. Or was it the deceiving unction?

The catacomb welcomed her with its familiar bluish light from the many sapphire-wax candles that ignited at her presence. The water lapped distantly in the little dock beyond the hiding place. The small cracks in the hewn stone glittered with the inset jewels she had taken to extracting when she was bored. The table was set exactly how she had laid it with the velvet cloth and silver cutlery, _Perfect,_

"What is this place?" The boy asked, at last, gazing around,

"It does not have a name among the elves." She said, starting to pull off her cloak, "They do not know of it. Even less than they know we are here." She threw off her cloak and hung it up, taking extra long just to hear his gasp of astonishment,

"You-you're a-"

"My name is Ralshiva." She turned round, her braids swinging like they always did, "Drow Warmistress of the Farhil Seas. Or, I was until your Prince came along and stole my territory." She added, with bitterness, "Ah, don't be alarmed." She waved a dismissive hand as he blanched, "You have not heard half of the terrible crimes the Prince has committed."

"W-what do you..."

Ralshiva smiled, _Time to turn on the charm. _Puckering her lips slightly, she leaned against the wall, inclining her head up a little to show her fine neck, "Surely you are not prejudiced against Drows, are you? We are a closely-bonded, affectionate race and we are always ready to accept another into our lives."

"You-you _tricked _me!" His face contorted with anger as this one clear fact was realised,

"Yes, dear one." She strode slowly across the room towards him, widening her eyes slightly and taking her voice into a sorrowful tone to endear some sympathy, "I admit to tricking you but I did not know how else to bring you here, otherwise. I fear that no other place is safe from the Prince's tyranny and persecution against my kind. I am hunted day and night by the wicked Akhohr simply for being in their land."

"You're lying." The boy shook his head,

"I am not. Look!" She pulled up her sleeve to show the bloody bandage, "The wound I sustained from them has not yet healed. I have hidden below the ground for so long and I so yearn for companionship and aid."

"You're looking at the wrong person." The boy turned around promptly and jumped when he saw the portal had gone,

"Will you leave me? A wounded, frail Drow who has never hurt a soul and does not hate anyone but that wretched Prince that took everything I had from me?"

"You probably deserve it!" The boy snapped, "You said it yourself. You're a Drow Warmistress and you had a territory. Probably drew the lines with the blood of your kills!"

She grew angry and defensive, some of her real emotion on the subject seeping through, "I did only what I could to keep my seas, as would any Elven Queen over her land. Our armies are meant for rival Drow armies, not invading Elves. No Elf needs the sea, their province is on land. Why is it that me and my brothers have to be cruelly slaughtered by those tree-lovers simply to satisfy their own greed? Certainly, there are some of my brothers that like to release drones upon the land but none who have are the first to act. It is always in retaliation when the Elves had attacked us!"

His eyes grew confused at her words, the new logic confusing his probably perfect, god-like image of Elves, _Now for the real deception,_

"We had a bargain, the Prince and I. Or, so I thought. He threatened war upon me and I would not hear of it. I reached a compromise with him, a truce. We both had simple conditions to adhere to, which I had full intention of doing. So, we lived in peace for many years, me and my people. A happy few years. But, I was tricked! When the Prince did not expect it, he and his army attacked me. He burned my beautiful ship, my home. My beloved armies were slain in their tracks, barely having time to armour ourselves. I escaped but now I am running. I have been hiding from those two-faced Elves for centuries."

"Hari isn't...two-faced..." He didn't sound so sure now, _It works, it works!_

"He is!" She cried, working up real tears just for effect, "I saw him during the slaughter. Terrible, blood-stained and heartless. He is aptly named Calasier Avamela in this land. No wonder his sword had betrayed him."

"Wh-what?" He blinked,

"Oh, yes." She nodded, fervantly, making her voice wild and desperate to make him understand, "His sword enacted the age-old ritual of Liberation. Breaking all ties with her master, slipping from his grip and joining with another. Never in seven Ages has there ever been a sword who enacted Liberation of their own. The Prince is a such a terrible master who forces his good sword to perform such abominable acts of cruelty that she has deserted him. Such terrible acts. Oh! I will not say!" She choked on a contrived sob and turned away to hide her smirk. He was dancing her dance completely, "Yet...you must know. I fear for you if you do not know." She turned around with all appearances of reluctance, "He...has killed...little children of the Warlord Manastreth!"

She struck gold; she could see it. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open, "You're lying." He shook his head again. The effects of the potion were still upon him but they could also be turned against the Prince,

"It is true! It is true! I saw their poor skeletons myself. Behold!" She produced the strategically-placed skull on the table and held it up to his eyes, "The skull of one of those poor unfortunate, unstained souls that Calasier Avamela murdered in cold bloodlust. What is worse, he laid blame upon his innocent father and sentenced him to torture for five-hundred years before injust execution. He deceives his own generals and his King to gain his way. He will even deceive you!"

"How do I know...that you're not lying...?" He asked, slowly, _He is fingering around desperately for something that may prove his dear prince innocent,_

"Why, if you could see what I could see in you!" She gasped, "I see, lo and behold, a love potion afflicting your sight! Your love for the Prince was spontanuous, I hear. Did you ever wonder the reason for it? Why, there 'tis!"

The boy looked stricken. The potion's influence was growing weaker and weaker, that was clear. If the body knew of its deception, it was easier for it to resist and to be swayed, _Now is the time._ She began to whirl her fingers out of sight into the charming spell. It was done in an instant and now, the unction was conquered, _Yes! Your precious tricked Nienna is mine, Hari Valedhiel._

At a flick of her hand, the Emerald-wax candles were lit, blending with the Sapphire-wax so it looked like they were actually underwater. The Emerald-waxes sweet and drowsy perfume drifted lazily around the room, taking several seconds to meet its target. The boy held his head, dizzied and weakened by the incense, falling to his knees.

Smiling saucily, she strutted over him to him, discarding her helpless, hysterical manner at once in favour of her confident, seductive one, "Now, you see." She drawled, "Now, the blinding unction has no power over you. We are alike, little one. Both have been tricked by the Prince for years and both desire revenge for it." She knelt down in front of him and lifted his face. It was a blank slate, ready to be filled, "He toys with lovers like a cat toys with mice. He must have hurt you, tormented you and intends to do so again when you least expect it. It is his evil way."

Emotion came into his face. Anger, hurt, _Yes!_ "He..._did _hurt me...and torment me..."

"I thought as much." Ralshiva nodded, "Elves are fickle, arrogant creatures, who cannot be depended upon or trusted. Drows form strong bonds and would never dream of breaking them. Drows like me." She dropped the anvil-sized hint with a flutter of her eyelashes. No more words needed to be said, now. The deception was complete. All that was needed was to lean in closer when he did and press her pale lips against his.

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A great clashing clanging filled his ears. Far too loud and far too unneeded. His skull rattled painfully and his brain throbbed. He tried to sit bolt upright but everything was too painful so he flopped back down with a moan, Everything was blurred and garishly bright, "_Go away_..." He groaned, his voice coming out too loud for his liking. Every noise felt like a sledgehammer blow to his already aching head, "..._leave me_..."

"Noalith, you BLOODY DRUNK!" screamed a harsh, female voice, "WAKE UP, YOU STUPID DROW-BORN! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!"

"_Stop it_..." He groaned, trying to bury himself in the blankets to try and block out the unwelcome sound of the Princess of Alqualond's voice. A pull on his head interrupted this plan and he was shaken so hard that he felt he would be sick. Again, the voice screaming in his ear,

"NO - A - LITH! WAKE - UP - RIGHT - NOW!"

"_I am awake...I wish I were not..._" He tried to return to the safety of the bed and think of a strategy to stop his pounding headache,

"WHERE THE BLOODY HELL IS DRACO?"

"_Draco?_" He raised his head painfully, intrusive hair obscuring his vision, "_What of him? Is he not with Hari?_" His vision became a little clearer and the intrusive face of Princess Maederhwen swam into view. He could not concentrate through his headache to read her thoughts and nor did he want to. She looked as though she was about to pop a vein,

"YOU WERE MEANT TO KEEP AN EYE ON HIM!" She screached, smacking him around the face with every word. As if he didn't feel wretched enough as it was...

"_What...?_"

"YOU BASTARD DRUNK!" Punches in the face now for every syllable. His head hurt even more due to a combined headache and broken nose, "HE'S GONE! HE'S BEEN KIDNAPPED BECAUSE YOU GOT YOURSELF BLOODY HAMMERED!" Now, he was flying through the air and the back of his head impacted with something too hard and too unfriendly,

"_Urrgghhh..._" He flopped down, losing the will to live. The Princess was talking nonsense and his head hurt. Voices spoke around him. Panicky, angry voices that he wished would be quiet. He tried to convey his wish for quiet but it was no use. His throat felt like it had been sanded down very violently and no more words could get through. The rude voice of the Princess was screaming again and the torture began,

"THAT MUD-SKINNED WASSOCK DOWNED THAT LOAD OF FIREWHISKY LAST NIGHT! _MY_ FIREWHISKEY, YEAH! HE GOT HIMSELF DRUNK WHEN HE WAS MEANT TO BE KEEPING AN EYE ON DRACO! YEAH, HE'S GONE! GONE, I SAID! YOU DEAF OR SOMETHING? HE'S BLOODY FORGOT ABOUT IT, HE GOT SO BLOODY SAUCED!"

"_Gods save me..._" groaned Noalith, trying to drag himself one-handed to the door. Perhaps he could find someone who would be quiet and give him something for his head. Someone who would swear so much, for a start. His pounding brain registered something about Draco and drinking, _That cannot be true..._He thought, as he succeeded in moving a painful inch, _I never drink..._

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A/N: I know it seems a bit OOC of Noalith to drink loads but he's not used to panicking. So, did he deserve getting beaten to a pulp when he had a hangover?


	10. A Stolen Blade

A/N: It's getting harder and harder to concentrate on this story so forgive me if there are more delays. I've got exams coming up really soon so I might have to ditch them.

**miss quirky bookworm: **Yeah. People do the weirdest things in unfamiliar situations. Nope, no flashbacks here.

**CinnimonCherry145: **Thanks!

**evildictionaryninja: **It's my opinion on alcohol coming through. I'm a teetotal and see alcohol as more troublet than it's worth.

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 10: A Stolen Blade**_

Hari was sitting restlessly on his bed. Manastreth could tell that he hated having to stay here. The Prior's law of the priest not getting involved in conflict was constraining him from going out and stopping the Drow Warmistress herself. Which is what he clearly wanted to do. He was used to this sort of thing after all, Manastreth could imagine. He was the sort who would take the task wholly upon themselves and hated watching from the sidelines. To make things worse, the Prior had put all daily life on hold to engage the others in private prayer for the sakes of their country. Hari did not believe strongly in the deities, that was clear, and prayer held no comfort for him,

"_This will be reported to the Akhohr_." He said, consolingly, though he knew he had said it about ten times before, "_Something will be done about it. Your soldiers will be prepared for this._"

Still, Hari was not consoled. He got up and went to the window, fiddling with his hair with one hand and fingering his crystal pendant in the other. Manastreth knew that pendant had great sentimental value; the Prince wore it always under his robe. He had been taking it out a lot more often, though, which was probably a sign of his unease. He could guess why. The crystal had been a gift from Draco and he was worrying about the boy. If the Warmistress could open portals to the human world, she could probably reach Draco and the other elves now trapped in the mortal world.

The Void could be sealed off, making routes between the two worlds but it took five years of Elven time to successfully seal all passages and prevent any powers from accessing it. It also took about five years to completely open it up as well. He had found the monastry library a good resource of information on the subject. Since the priests worshipped Turil, their deity of war, they kept extensive archieves on past wars and battles. The Void had been completely sealed off seven times in history, two times by other powers than the official mages to trap elves in the mortal world where they were least defended. The others had been times when they believed the mortal world in danger.

Could the King and Queen of Valivial decide upon that? Then again, from what Hari had told him, there were many elves in the human world, including the Princesses of the other two lands of the Entante. Would they be enough to defend the mortal world? He knew of the Princess of Alqualond's ferocity and of the power the Princesses of Ithil'orad had. He knew all this because he had interviewed Hari about it to both satisfy his own worries and expose the positive side to Hari.

There was a knock on the door and the Prior entered. Hari stood up at once, clearly expecting some important news. The Prior was wringing his hands and Hari immediatly tensed, sensing danger, "_Father Mana, Brother Ri, I have passed on the intelligence to the Akhohr generals, as you know, and have just received a response. The Akhohr have sent patrols around the forestland and asked me to bring the news to Brother Ri that reports of the hybrids created by the Drows have infected the Void._"

Hari actually took a step backwards at this news. Manastreth too felt a chill of terror go down his spine. The hybrids in the Void! Anyone who tried to open a portal would let the beasts into the world! The Prior nodded, "_I too am fearful. I will go now and pray for all our sakes._" He left in a whirl of white robes. Manastreth simply stood where he was, horror after horror coming to him. The hybrids, those monsters that he had unwittingly invented, loose in the Void! Should the elves in the human world think of opening a portal there...or should the Warmistress open a portal there...It made his soul cold to think of it.

He sat upon Hari's bed, his mind whirring with endless and terrible possibilities. Hari was staring out of the window, pulling out strands of hair with nerves. Glancing outside, Manastreth saw Melda with Antion. They were tending to the crops outside, trying to occupy themselves from the awful situation they were in. Melda's sweet face was dark, however, and Antion, though he could still not understand what she said, shared this, _Such sweet faces should not be marred by worry._

He loved them both but he wished there was something he could do, a place he could take them so they could be away from all this. Even if it meant being apart from them. Manastreth had learned long ago that he could never escape his heritage. Drows were a proud, warlike race by reputation and, although he knew himself to not be that, it was what everyone expected of him,

_Perhaps that is why so many of them live up to their names. If something is said often enough, it becomes truth._ He thought of the Warmistress, _Was she a victim of her family and of the views of society?_ He believed this; that none were born with warlike hate in their veins, only deity-given innocence. It was their family and the world that shaped who they were, like hands shaping clay. Or like the grapes upon the vine outside his window.

The vines hung over the window, obscuring it from the outside a little, _The fruit of that vine all have potential to be ripe. Yet not all are. It is neglect that makes them small, an outside canker that makes them sour, nothing that cannot be cured. Certaintly, one needs patience and the right tools but it can be done. No vine is beyond repair. Nor is any soul._

He turned his gaze to Hari, who had dropped the tenth hair he had torn out onto the windowsill, _Hari is proof of that. He thinks himself wholly evil but I know that is not true. Here, he frets over his people and over those he loves. He worries deeply about it, deep enough to tear out his hair with frustration that he can do nothing._

Letting out a sigh, he reached out and laid a hand on Hari's shoulder, "_Go to your duties. You must keep this place in order at least._" After a moment of gazing at Manastreth, the poor boy pulled up and dragged himself out. Manastreth watched him go, wondering if he should accompany him. Hari would be thankful of some company and Manastreth could comfort him if needed. However, Hari was not one who wanted to be with someone all the time. He had times when he desired nothing but to be alone. Manastreth had learned to read these signs and he had showed them now: slumped posture, exhausted manner and a weary sort of melancholy.

There was a general feeling of anxiety about the place. The priests did not openly gossip but they all knew of Antion and the Warmistress that threatened them all. The scribes were preparing another war account, already fearing the worst. The usually calm monastary was under a pall of silent concern for the rest of the world. Yet the sky was bright blue, the perfect day, contrasting even further with the pall of fear within the walls.

In an attempt to calm his spirit, he lay down upon his bed and endevoured to sleep. The warmth of the sun radiated through the room and aided this. When he awoke, that sky became streaked with blood red and bruised purple. The day was wearing on and neither Melda, Antion or Hari had returned.

Thinking of finding them, he stood up, his limbs still lethargic from their rest, and strode out of his cell. He pulled his cowl more tightly around him to ensure all of his dark skin was covered. He knew that nearly all the priests here were elves, he had been told by the Prior when he had arrived, but there had been records of Drows becoming priests in the past. Most often refugees seeking protection from the persecution of elves. He did not know exactly why the elves had so much distain for the Drow. Was it because of their differences in appearance? Or because of their acts?

He passed the Chamber of Cleansing, where Bellime now lay. The cleansing waters of the font had been a heaven for her, washing away all the blood of innocents from her. She would always hail Manastreth as he went by, still holding on to the hope that he would own her...but she didn't now.

As he passed the door, he stopped. She had never hesistated to call out a greeting to him and, as the silence stretched on, Manastreth's worry increased, "_Mistress?_" He called, hesistantly. No reply. He wondered if she was asleep, due to the heat of the evening. Pushing the wood door open, he slipped through the gap. The Chamber of Cleansing was full of long, thin fonts, perfect for swords to lie and be cleansed of their sins. The fonts were all in neat rows, though only about half of them were full.

Her font was the furthest from the door on the far right row...and it was empty.

Cold panic engulfed him again as the truth sank in. The empty font glimmered in the setting sun, giving the surface a strange blood-red sort of colour. Was she stolen? Had she been perhaps taken out for inspection? She would called out to him if she had. His cell was in the passage between the Chamber of Cleansing and the lighter rooms that would be perfect for inspection, after all. She certainly would have called a warning or a plea for help if she was stolen but what if he had not heard it since he was asleep?

Hurrying from the place, he ran through the main chapel to try and find the Prior. If anyone knew of an authorized removal, it would be him. Everything was reported to him since he was the head of this Order, after all. No one was there and he remembered again too late that all the priests were requested to stay in their cells. Gazing around, he saw the images of Meleniel, Turil and Fallena side by side, their images shining in purest marble. Their images, though still new to Manastreth, held a great comfort to him. These deities were a symbol of elves' faith in love and their knowledge of his power. He knew not if the deities actually existed but what they symbolised filled his heart with warmth.

He approached, hoping to gain some comfort and clarity from gazing upon their beauty. As he neared the images, however, it was new dread and horror that filled him. The images were not the wonderous women he had become accustomed to. Turil's head was stained with red blood, running in streaks down her neck and onto her punctured chest. Fallena's flesh was wasted upon her arms, little more than skeletal limbs with skin stretched over them. Meleniel was the most horrifying: punctured through the chest, bleeding the same red blood as Turil, and her flesh as wasted as Fallena.

The sun seemed to grow as chill as the moon, seizing all the balmy heat that the place had basked in. The red light from the glowing sunset only served to highlight the awful scene. The marble was easily dyed that same bloody colour by the light and Manastreth stumbled over a bench as he staggered back in terror, "_Angels and spirits protect us!_" He gasped, "_What vision is this? Deities, why do you present yourself in such terrible appearance? What has wounded you all?_"

Their faces remained the same. No mouth opened or eye stirred. However, a dark drop swelled at the corners of their closed eyes and and ran down their faces. The deities were weeping blood but for whom? What could cause them such suffering? The doves flew from above the damaged mistresses and dropped what looked like gold pieces. As one flew slowly before him, he saw it was in fact golden flowers, five-petaled and delicate-looking. As he reached out a hand to clasp one, it sparked and became consumed by flame in an instant.

"_Father Mana?_" A voice from the side made him leap to his feet and look around, relieving him of the terrible image. A priest came from the door from which he had just now came through. The unique symbol around his neck told him it was Father Carlu, the one who oversaw the Chamber of Cleansing, "_What have you seen?_" His voice was serious, it was clear that he knew what was going on even without having to see the images, "_What image has the deities sent you?_"

"_Image?_" Manastreth glanced up and was astonished to see the deities restored, their beauty intact as though nothing had ever occured,

"_I know that the three celestial sisters have sent you a vision. I can see it in your eyes. A vision of terror and misfortune. On the very eve that the sword Bellime goes missing!_" So he knew. He had probably come to raise the alarm. Sitting down to calm his shaking limbs, he told the entirity of what he had beheld. Manastreth did not need to see Father Carlu's face to know he was becoming more unnerved by the second, "_I know of only one recent vision. Some people do not easily confide so there may be more. I have studied some of these visions and can estimate some of their meanings. Though nothing is sure._"

"_What could my vision foretell?_" Manastreth asked. He was not well-versed in omens nor did he really believe in them. His beliefs had changed slightly in this environment and he now listened with rapt attention,

"_The blood upon Turil could mean that a war is waging with much bloodshed or that a conflict between two people important to destiny has begun. Or even that a great warrior has been struck down. The wasting of Fallena can mean that famine and disease are coming or that an agreement has fallen through. Or that reconciled friends have fought again. As for the wounded Meleniel, it can portray a love betrayed or lost. Her wasting can symbolise a bond of love being broken._"  
"_The flowers, too? Are they symbols?_" Manastreth, though he knew not why, began to grow more and more worried,

"_I know not the meaning of the flowers. They have never been recorded. However, something new may be given to give one a clue of the person involved in this terrible occurance._" Father Carlu fell silent in thought and Manastreth followed suit. Who did he know who was related to golden flowers? His mind was a complete blank and, though he searched, the answer eluded him.

He gazed down upon the floor at the shimmering marble beneath his feet. The light was fading and every second felt like an eternity wasted when he ought to be helping the poor unfortunate whom the deities were relating to. Fading sunlight reflected off the marble and onto the sparkling glass of the crystal encasing surrounding the golden replica of the sword of Turil. The crystal shattered the light, casting it upon the walls in millions of directions just like Hari's pendant.

Just like Hari's pendant...

Everything within him seemed to vanish to be replaced with an icy void of terror. The pendant had encased something gold but had never had the chance to see it close up. He had merely respected that it was a gift from Draco and had not enquired further. Still, it had looked like something golden and delicate. He put a hand to his throat and shot up, startling Father Carlu,

"_Father Mana! Have you worked it out?_"  
"_Brother Ri!_" He gasped, "_Where is he?_" It was clear already, though. The truth was coming slowly into Manastreth's mind as all the correct pieces fell into place,

"_I know not. Is he not within his cell?_"

"_I sent him to try and distract his great worries elsewhere. What is that sound?_" He gasped, suddenly. A voice, a wailing female voice, was coming closer and closer, rattling the night air with her howls. Father Carlu drew back in fright, bringing up the symbol of the dove in an attempt to protect himself from lost souls. The door was thrown wide open and a bright, green light filled the room,

"_HELP! FATHERS, HELP!_" The spirit of Bellime hovered before him, her green eyes wild and wide with fright. Manastreth ran forward at once, _Oh, deities, please let it not be too late!_

"_What happened? Sweet blade, what has terrified you so?_"

"_OH, FATHER MANA, A DISASTER! MY OWNER, BROTHER RI, TOOK ME FROM MY RESTING PLACE WITH THE INTENT OF FINDING A DROW THAT THREATENED THIS LAND!_" All Manastreth's worst fears were coming true at once and his blood grew cold, "_HE MET WITH THE WARMISTRESS BUT SHE DEFEATED HIM! HURRY! I SHALL LEAD!_"

Manastreth fled the chapel in an instant, not a care for the law not to leave the grounds. Terror made his blood rush, pounding in his ears as he ran. He saw nothing else but Bellime, paid no attention to the thorns that tore at his legs and only cared of his direction when dodging obstacles in his way, _Alack, I should have kept a closer eye upon him! I should have know he would be driven to this! _Trees flew by, roads were bypassed; there may have been people he passed but he was not paying any notice.

The trees turned into long-grassed fields and Bellime slowed. Panting and soaked with sweat from his exertion, Manastreth slowed his pace as well. It was only then did he take in the smell of burning; a doused fire must be close by. She then stopped in a place where the grass was blackened as though by a fire and some nervous-looking farmers were looking on from a distance. Within that blackened place lay a white-clad figure. His cowl was thrown away into the grass a few feet from them and the snapped crystal pendant beside that,

"_Hari!_" gasped Manastreth, throwing himself to the rough ground and turning him over. The dark hair fell in tendrils over his white face; he seemed to be unconscious. However hard he called to him, he could not wake and, however hard he looked, he could not find a wound that would indicate what had happened. He knew, however, that it was serious. Some spells did not immediately appear upon a body and yet could be lethal if left unchecked.

He gathered the poor limp boy in his arms and began to run back to the monastary. Bellime appeared by his side, carrying his cowl and the pendant. He wanted to ask her the exact nature of the event but he could not spare a breath to ask her. Every bit had to be used to push his legs forward to the safe haven. Again, his feet flew across the ground and again, the thorns torn at his legs but he did not care. The extra weight was nothing. If not, it only served to fuel the fear and resolve that burned within him.

The doors of the monastary were thrown open and the Prior was standing before them. clutching an extra cowl. It was only when Manastreth had slowed down did he realise that his cowl had gone. It must have blown off when he was running for they were not made to stay on in vigourous excercise. That was the least of his worries, however. He needed to get Hari to the Rooms of Fallena and fast,

"_Help, Prior! Our Brother is in grave peril!_"

"_Come inside, Father Mana, and tell of this!_" The Prior commanded, holding open the door. It was fortunate that none of the priests were outside their cells to see their faces. He supposed afterwards that the Prior had commanded them all to remain where they could be accounted for to prevent further disappearances. The rooms were reached in double-speed and Hari was lain upon the bed.

His face held a shadow of his last emotion: shock. Had the final strike been a surprise attack? Or had he been surprise-attacked in the first place? Still, there had been the evidence of a battle so it could have been that. Bellime lay the pendant upon the bedside table while healers fretted over Hari, trying to determine what was wrong. Manastreth looked up to the sword-spirit,

"_Did you see what struck him?_"

The spirit's face darkened and she looked pained, "_It was not the spell that injured him so. It was what he saw beforehand. It was terrible what she did to him._" She scowled in anguished anger, "_I fear that it will kill him._"

"_Oh, tell. Tell and we shall remedy it._" Manastreth cried, standing so their faces were level,

"_Very well, I shall. My owner came to the Chamber of Cleansing earlier today with swift and certain purpose. He at once seized me to my displeasure as I was sleeping at the time but he took me outside nevertheless. He left the monastary and made his way north upon a rumour from one of the priests. He was hunting the Drow Warmistress he had heard of._"

Manastreth nodded. He knew this already,

"_His tracking was successful, though it was not much effort. The Warmistress was rampaging around the villages, killing villagers one by one to use their bodies for increasing her forces. He caught her just as she was about to add another and challenged her. He was stopped, however._"

"_By whom?_" The volume of the healer's cries was increasing, becoming more frantic. They were struggling to aid him,

"_Draco._"  
"_What?_" Manastreth's eyes grew wide in shock, "_His Nienna?_"

"_Draco is changed somehow. His loyalties have changed and he loves Hari no longer._"

"_How-how is that so?_" Manastreth could never comprehend those who lost their interest in their Niennas after a short time,

"_Oh, Manastreth, your faith in Hari shall be shaken again when you hear this! He deceived Draco into loving him with an unction sold to him from a moral-less Lindarian merchant!_"

"_He loved Draco truly, though?_" He could barely believe what he was hearing. Hari, deceive a human thus?

"_Oh, certainly. Ask not why but he did. When Hari faced the Warmistress, Draco came between them. He professed that he now knew of the deception and had overcome it. He despised Hari, whom he once loved, and now loved the Warmistress. She verified it by sharing a kiss before Hari's eyes. Oh, what a howl the Prince let out! It sounded as though all his soul was shattering within him. Then, he fell. He dropped me from his hands for he would not hurt Draco and fell to his knees, unknowing of the spell that hit him. He went down with one blow and was left by the dreadful pair._"  
Staggering back, he found the chair and sat down again, taking it all in with horror. Hari, deceiver of his love and then betrayed by him! Draco, who had somehow overcome the powerful potion and now bent towards the enemy! And now, Hari was broken-hearted and probably dying upon the bed beside him!

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A/N: Dun, dun, dun! How's that?


	11. Hybrids

A/N: These chapters may be delayed a bit more now. My exams are close on the horizon and my time will be spent on revision.

**miss quirky bookworm: **Yeah, betrayals all round here.

**Melora: **Thanks, I'll consider it.

**evildictionaryninja: **That spell really was strong, yeah!

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 11: Hybrids**_

The royal carriage rattled up the hill, gouged by the thorns when it took the blows for the people within. Priests hurried from the doors to greet the King and Queen of Valivial, though it was a solemn visit. The Queen hurried inside while the King tried to get some answers from the priests first. However, little answers could be gained from them so he too hurried inside.

Not surprisingly, the Queen reached the room first. She gave a gasp and covering her mouth with her hands in shock. For, there her son lay, pale as death and just as motionless. A dry sob escaped her and she took a step back. Her _Nienna_ took hold of her shoulders, attempting to comfort her, though he himself looked stricken.

Manastreth observed this from his seat by the window. His cowl was still off; he had not put it back on since he brought Hari back simply out of habit. None of the other priests had seen him but it mattered not. He would not leave Hari's side, not for the world. He had not even bothered to tie back his hair into his once-customary braid but left it hanging loosely in white sheets around him. In fact, one would almost think he was cowled since his hair matched his robe so well.

It was through these sheets of hair that he could see Hari's face, in the thin gap between the white curtains. That face was white, as was a High Elf's wont, but it had a strange, yellowish tinge like parchment. The way a High Elf's was when they were seriously ill or so he had read. He had tried to heal the spell's effects, of course, but, for some reason, whenever it seemed to fade, it came back in full force. Constant healers had to be beside him to stop the curse from worsening but none could make him wake.

Manastreth had been the first to realise it. Hari was actually subconsciously aiding the curse's destructive course through his body. He had lost the will to live after being rejected by Draco that he desired nothing more than death. So, his soul aided the curse, giving it his strength to kill him. Healing spells mended the body but they relied upon the wounded person's desire to heal. If the person did not wish to be healed, the healing effect would be severely limited. Since times when the magic was resisted were few and far between, no one had given a thought to try and overcome this flaw.

Now, there was nothing he could do but keep him from fulfilling that desire to throw himself to Garthial's arms. For Hari must not die. Manastreth would not let him die. He loved Hari as he would his own son and would not see him dead. Yet, with every passing moment, his fear increased and new problems came to his mind. Healers had their limits to their magic and their patience. Even if he did not give in, his magic was not infinite. Eventually, without a reason to live on, without Draco, Hari would die.

He gazed up at his parents, both listening to how he had become this way. The Prior apologised again and again for not keeping a closer watch upon him, _He should not be the one to apologise._ Manastreth thought, lowering his head, _It should be me. I promised them that I would take care of him to their faces and believed I could. One small slip. One small lapse in judgement and all is lost._ In his more than fifty-thousand years of living, he had known the danger of a small slip. One misread word and the spell is lost. One untrained soldier and a battle is overturned. One unknowing guardian and a child is dead.

The power of one was the power of fate, the world itself.

The sky around them was clouding. It may rain soon. In fact, by the look of the dark clouds, it could turn into a full-blown thunderstorm. Sure enough, ten minutes later, he had to close the window to stop the rain pouring in. Silvery droplets gilded the crystalline glass and ran haltingly down like many tears from many faces.

Yes, many people were crying out there. The Drow Warmistress and the bewitched Draco were roaming in the North, stealing away elves to turn them into monstrous hybrids. The creatures of nightmares were either openly or systematically destroying villages, livelihoods, souls...not just in the present but the future. How many lives that had barely begun had been snatched from them by their future parents dying or driven to desperation?

He allowed his hair to fall completely over his face and wept into his hands, _Oh, what have I done? I have begun this! It was my delusional belief that could bring life back into the world after it had been taken. Garthiel is vengeful, for she does not tolerate those who would defy her laws. Oh, curse my foolish and reckless hope!_

He remembered it all too well. After he had been defeated in the battle, he had endevoured hard to reach land, leaving his wrecked ship and many other wrecked lives behind. Though injured and lacking his arm, he had pushed on and on through the waters. He had forced himself almost to delirium but succeeded in his design. He had reached land and crawled into a sea-cave. He knew not how long he remained there, weak and sick in mind and body, but he had awoken in the house of a hermit.

That hermit was a long-lived elf, blinded by some long-won battle. Since she was blind, she could not recognise his race and had mistook him for a war-weary elf like herself. Her name was Miriopa and she loved the birdsong. Why could he not remember any more of her? He had lived in harmony with her for many years but she was an old elf and prone to sickness. During a bad winter, she fell ill and Manastreth could not fetch the proper medicine from the nearby village. In the end, knowing that Drow blood, when prepared correctly, had healing properties. So, in one desperate attempt, he had prepared it and injected it into her bloodstream.

It had been a success. Though it stung her for days, she was completely cured and invigorated. But at a terrible price. She could open her eyes and see perfectly clearly his race. What was worse, her eyes, that she had described as being a deep brown, were a bright gold as were his. She had become part Drow herself. In a rage, she had thrown him from her house, cursing him for crossing her path and cursing herself for being so foolish as to take him in.

The new rejection stabbed him worse than the others. He had lain upon a fallen tree and wept for a whole day. When he had recovered himself, he returned to her home, wishing for a reconciliation. What he had found was terrible, tragic and terrible. She had taken a shard of his broken sword and drove it into her heart, rather than bear Drow blood in her veins.

He never knew why he did it. Even now, he could not recall to him the reason why he had even attempted it. Why he had not let Miriopa rest in Garthiel's arms and why he had been so selfish as to attempt a retrieval. Using the idea of Drow blood, he had cut out a pound of his own flesh and placed it into her body. He had been encouraged when she began to convulse in pain but the result was more horrible than he could have imagined.

In terror, he had watched when her body began to distort, to mutate into a terrible form, one that made Manastreth hide within a haystack with fright. The monster, for monster it was, had no memory of its past life and was a bloodthirsty predetor that had ran into the night to ravage the nearby village. When he had finally gained the courage to venture there, he found that whole place destroyed. Only empty buildings littered with devoured corpses. All were dead, only their bones and a few scraps of their flesh remaining. It had taken him every ounce of willpower not to be sick at the sight and the smell. Everyone...everyone gone...erased with their flesh...

All but one.

The beating boots of an approaching regiment had forced him to hide within one of the houses. Although he had not wanted to be any closer to such horrific scenes, he had no choice. He hid in the basement but, where he thought he would find more disgusting sights, he found a treasure. For, shrouded in blankets to muffle her cries, the infant Melda lay.

Upon his desire to at least atone in part for what chaos he had caused, he had plucked her from the village of death and hurried back the village. There, he had thrown all tools he had used to create the abomination into the river and endevoured to bring up the young elf girl as his own child. So it had been for a hundred years. He had not hidden anything from her; he had told her why they were so different in appearance and that he was not her real father. In the end, he admitted to have caused her misfortune.

She was young; she had her temper tantrum but it did not last. In a few days, she had forgiven his foolishness and life had continued. A hermit's life, with no contacts with elven society. Then, the Akhohr found him. The trial had been conducted by Hari; even he, so forgiving, could admit to it being crooked. Ludicrous charges were brought up, he had been blamed for the deaths of his children and passing on the secrets of creating monsters to fellow Drows. Though this charge was false, it was based on truth. It was only during the trial did he find out what terrible events had rippled forth from his foolishness.

For Drows had discovered the monster he created. They had killed it and examined it. From that, they had found out where it had come from and how it had been formed. How he dreaded his own misguided endevour for what a horrible weapon he had created! They had created more of the terrors and now, they were roaming free around the world! His good intentions had turned into a merciless destroying mechanation of the Warlords!

The Queen was sobbing in earnest now. When Manastreth next looked up, her face was buried in her handkerchief, weeping with all the grief of a bereaved mother. The Prior was trying as gently as he could that the outlook was very bleak for Hari. He added, all grieving, that it might be better if they stopped the healing now to let him die now rather than let his suffering be drawn out.

The King seemed silently prepared for this prospect; he clasped his son's hand and let the tears fall upon the still face. The Queen, however, flared up in anger as all her grief turned to defiant anger. She announced that such a thing would not be allowed to happen. Hari was her son and she would not allow him to die simply because of impatience, "_By Fallena, I will cast the healing spells if I have to!_" She declared.

Manastreth had no power to speak. Her love for her son was admirable and he at once loved the woman for showing this. The Prior addressed him, asking him what his views were,

"_If it pleases you, Prior,_" He said, with a cracked voice, "_I will agree with the most wonderous Queen that Hari should be allowed to live._"

Though the face was veiled, he could sense the sympathetic understanding in it, "_Father Mana, the love you bear for the Prince is vast, I know, but, if you love him, would it not be best to let him go unto Garthiel in peace now rather than remain here on earth in purgatory?_"  
"_I have faith, Prior, that this illness can be made right. It is clear that we may be able to bring him back using Draco. We must either persuade him to come or kidnap him._" Manastreth would not reveal that Draco had been enchanted until he had to. That was Hari's secret to unveil just like the murders. As he spoke, his hope inflated and the plan became more sophistacated, "_Let us at least attempt it. I shall go forth and search for him if you wish._"  
To his dismay, the Prior shook his head, "_Father Mana, I will not allow any more priests to leave this place. I am decided, do not contradict me further. The Prince will die three days from now._"

The hope was gone like a soap bubble. He desperately wanted to stand and cry out, _How can that be your decision?_ Only by gripping his robe did he restrain himself. The terrible, unthinkable future seemed to rush forward and hit him in the face, knocking all wind from him. The Queen howled in grief and the King stood to escourt her from the place.

Manastreth could not move for shock but this was only for a moment. Steadily, he stood and moved to Hari's side. He clasped the white, cold hand and wept long. Why...why did Hari have to die? Why could the healers not persist? Why did they think that the best for him was to just fade from this world? Manastreth knew that suffering could be called worse than death but suffering could be allieved, prevented and recoverable. There was no turning back from death and he did not want to think what price there was to pay for trying,

"_I only wish you to survive._" He sobbed to the deaf boy, "_Is that so selfish? I only wish to steal your pain away and let you recover. Are you so lost that you are composed entirely of pain? Alack...alas..._" His voice would not continue. He bowed his head and placed it upon Hari's heart. White hair splayed about them, enclosing the both of them from the world, "_Hari...Hari...Hari..._"

Again, the sense of time eluded him. The three days left to him were trickling away like sands in an hourglass. Time was slowly stealing what little life was left to Hari. He knew not how much when he finally ran out of tears to shed and strength to shed them. He lay quiet upon the dying boy's chest, his eyes closed. So grief-stricken was he that his mind began to play tricks on him. He could almost hear Hari's voice...

_Wait..._He slowly turned to the pale face, _Yes, he moves!_ He hurried to place his ear close to the mouth for he swore that he saw it move. Waiting with baited breath, he endevoured to hear the word it was forming. Silence continued and nothing more. Still, he would not give up. He knew it was not the lamplight deceiving him. He knew that Hari had spoken, "_Oh, speak, dear Prince! Let me know what I may do for you!_"

Again, no reply. Manastreth did not give up hope, however, and his patience was rewarded. His lips moved again, forming a word, "_Search..._" Manastreth gave a gasp. The meaning was clear to him in an instant. He wanted Draco by his side,

"_I go, my Prince._" Manastreth lifted his head, "_I shall return in no more than three days. Please, endevour to evade Garthial until then!_"

In fifteen minutes, he was running from the monastary with the spirit Bellime at his side. She was eager to help him and was soon guiding him back to the place Hari had been found. He could track the Warmistress from there. Just as dawn broke, he reached the place. The scorched earth had not yet been touched, no one had dared go near it. The village near them was quiet,

"_Probably been attacked so many times that people are scared to go out._" Bellime theorised, "_I've heard the priests saying how these monsters can be engineered to gain some cunning and other powers. They now have some consciousness and thought. Their technique is to return to their human forms after feeding and intergrate into society. They eat only enough to sustain them, systematically killing, picking off villagers one by one. All the while sowing fear and distrust among them._"

Manastreth groaned, "_How can they be told apart from elves, then?_"

"_That's the thing. You can't. Elves cannot, anyway._" She added, as though on an afterthought. They were walking into the town now and Manastreth was suddenly aware that he had left his cowl behind again. His race was clear for everyone to see and people peeping through the shutters quickly retreated inside. Manastreth glanced around at the ghost town. There were no wrecked buildings but the smell of blood was clear in the air, almost making him gag.

Down the street he strode, taking in every inch. They came to the centre of town, where the smell was most pungent. A beautiful fountain depicting Turil stood in the centre. Standing seven foot high, she held up a strong sword to the heavens but...Manastreth staggered at the sight. A mutilated body was stuck upon that sword in terrible mockery of her,

"_That Warmistress has a very twisted sense of humour._" Bellime shook her head. She halted in midair, turning her back on it. Manastreth followed suit, feeling even more sick. He sat down upon the rim of the fountain basin and turned his head up to her,

"_I truly wish to find this creature._" He stated. He did not like fighting but, if it was the only thing that would stop this mindless massacre, then he would do it, "_I wish to rid this place of fear and grief._"

Bellime folded her arms, thinking, "_I have heard...that Drows are good at sensing the world around them. They can anticipate other Drows coming. Like a sixth sense. Have you ever tried that?_"

"_A few times._" Manastreth nodded, "_I was able to sense Nestriv and Renewl when they came to make me Warlord but that was when they were about thirty feet away._"

"_This monster might be even closer. If you wish to destroy this monster, then try. I will attempt to guide you, for one of my owners was a Drow proficient in this area. First, close your eyes. You should not rely solely upon your sight. The less senses you have to focus, the more sharp the others shall be. Drows normally have one dominant sense and sight is very rarely that sense. You need to find your dominant sense and use it to your advantage._"

Manastreth obeyed. Once his world was black, he began focusing his other senses. Though Drows naturally had sharper senses than Elves, he still could not discern an unfamiliar presence. He could hear the gushing of the water and distant mutterings of the villagers but nothing suspicious. He waited and waited, expecting to hear a growl, a snarl or, worse, a muffled scream. He closed his mouth and breathed in deep through his nose. He could smell blood from the abandoned body but there was also something else...

"_Sensed something?_" Bellime's voice came from above him as his face tightened,

"_Yes._" He took another breath. Yes, there was something strange. Something that could not be produced by elves. And definitely living. The way the smell was radiating...it was came from something giving off body heat...It was disgusting. Like spoiling meat or a rotting carcass. Very much like the smell the first terrible hybrid had produced. Carefully, he took a step to his left, _No, not that way. _The smell got weaker that way. He took a step forward, _No, not that way either._ He tried backwards. _Yes! This way!_

Keeping his eyes closed, he felt his way around the fountain with his hands and, driven by the smell, he strode forward. With every step, the smell got that more pungent. One step at a time, using his hands to navigate the side alleys, he took great breaths to guide him to the creature. He could not see where he was going but his nose guided him. He could smell the handful of sheep in a pen at the back of one house and estimate how many elves there were in each dwelling.

Then, he stopped. This was where the smell stopped increasing and started decreasing as he walked on. Opening his eyes, he gazed around. He seemed to be on the edge of town, in front of a small manor. This was perhaps where the village chief lived. Bellime glared up at the place, "_Yes, this would make sense. A position of power. No one suspects the leaders._"

"_Are you certain I am right, though?_" Manastreth stared up for any signs of life and saw a curtain upstairs twitch,

"_We will know soon enough. Once you both are alone, he should show himself. The hybrid should be hungry. Its last meal was a week ago so he should attack you on sight. When they happens, I will blast him straight through._" His hand shook slightly at the prospect of being confronted with what he caused but Manastreth steadied himself. He did one more test just to see whether his senses were correct. Yes, the scent was here.

Up the path and to the door he went in a swift movement. His hand seemed to take an age to reach the door handle. It was cold and sharply hewn against his gloved fingers. It had a sort of finality about it that made Manastreth feel that this was his only chance. If he got it wrong here...

The door creaked open, revealing the room in a tantilisingly slow way. He had not gone two steps in when something moved above, making him jump. There was no one in the room. All the curtains and shutters were drawn. The place was dusty, unkempt, as though it had not been lived in for weeks. Yet the smell was everywhere, on the tables, on the cushioned couches but he could scent one above him. There was only one living thing in the house and it smelled of the hybrid. His heart raced as he advanced into the place. The thing was moving. It knew he was here. Bellime hovered close by, poised for a strike.

A floorboard creaked. The thing was coming down the stairs. Manastreth tensed, raising his arms at the ready. An elf appeared through a door; a sour-faced Wood Elf wearing a blue robe and a scowl, "_Haven't your kind done enough damage to my town as it is, Dunskin? Leave now or I'll make you._"

"_I mean this place no danger._" Manastreth held up his hands, "_I am searching for the monster that has ravaged it._" The door swung shut behind him in a gust of wind, "_I have reason to believe it is somewhere here._"

The elf's eyebrow quirked up, "_Do you, now? Well, then,_" It happened in an instant. The skin darkened, dried and hardened. The eyes shone a wild violet, contrasting with the previous dark colour. The blue silk robe ripped, unable to contain the mutating body it housed. The body contorted to become more deadly and more terrible; the form of a hybrid, "_you'd be completely right!_" Though his senses had known it all along, Manastreth could not help but be struck with horror at the sight. It immediately brought back the memories of Miriopa, mutated and monstrous before him. His instincts told him to flee but Bellime rushed forwards.

The spirit rushed right through him before the hybrid could move. Its mouth opened in a mixture of astonishment and pain, the cry remaining stillborn as a gaping hole was blasted in his chest. All this had happened in a split second. It was over so quickly. Time seemed to speed up when she struck and then slow when the body fell. The distortions faded like they were an illusion with only the the ripped robe and perfect circle hole in his chest to show what had just happened.

Manastreth's eyes widened. The elf had returned to its original form. All vestages of Drow flesh had gone. He bled white blood and his eyes were still violet but nothing else proved it was the beast. He did not know that he had fallen to his knees until he felt a sharp pain in them when he hit the wood floor. Had Miriopa looked like this when she was killed? Had she returned to her normal, lovely self after she had been struck dead?

An image floated into his head of a pierced elven body, bleeding white blood and golden eyed. Above it stood a Drow in full Warlord regalia, a malicious look on their face, reaching out and clasping it. Bellime hovered by his face, gently stroking his hair with her semi-transparent hand. It felt like warm water was being poured over him, "_It had to be done. He was dead already. He died weeks ago and what we saw now was his animated body. Death was a blessing to him. His soul is now free._"

Manastreth reached up, finding her arm solid as flesh, and, in a torrent of weak grief, leaned into her stomach. There, he wept for the state of this poor world.

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A/N: Poor Manastreth. He really gets a raw deal, doesn't he?


	12. Noalith and Herenda

A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been getting some serious writer's block on this story. It's because I've been focusing too much on my Oblivion one. It's taking my attention away so sorry if this isn't up to scratch. I'm focusing more on Herenda, just to make her less of a useless background character.

**miss quirky bookworm: **Well, the inspiration for them came from Yoma in a manga series called _Claymore_. If you search for that, you'll kinda see what I intended them to be.

**evildictionaryninja: **Mana's past was plausible, wasn't it? I'm a bit worried about that.

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 12: Noalith and Herenda**_

The volume of her shouts grew louder while the profanity increased. She screamed, stamped her feet, leapt up and down, all the while distracting Noalith from his task, "_Will you cease that noise?_" He demanded, at the raging Princess of Alqualond. His protests fell on deaf ears or perhaps she could not hear him over her shouting. Her thoughts were even louder and even ruder. Noalith tried to tune them out but her rage knew no bounds. She was now throwing things and the Prince of Alqualond finally got up to try and console her. Noalith knew that he had held back on purpose with the specific purpose to make him suffer as payment for such a blunder.

Deep down, he was worried about Draco but it was not his main reason. The more malicious reasons were foremost in his mind. The Prince of Alqualond was a rather malicious person in Noalith's view, not in any severe way. He was like the petty tormenters of his fellow Slytherins: he only wanted them to suffer until they were satisfied and then, they would stop. Like all people, he had his limits.

And so did Noalith. His head had been aching non-stop all day and the furious Princesses were doing nothing to help. It had been subconsciously agreed that Noalith should handle the task of trying to open the portal again by himself as further punishment. As if his own guilt and self-condemnation wasn't enough. As if the voice of their accusing minds were not nearly as powerful as his own. Every second, he damned himself for being so easily succeptable to the lure of alcohol. It wasn't like him to get drunk at a time when attention was needed and he thought he had a strong tolerance to the substance.

His carelessness had cost Draco and Hari would never forgive him for that. If Hari ever returned, that is. He was becoming certain that Hari probably perished in the Void at the hands of those creatures. With Hari gone, they had lost their best fighter. However, Noalith was not without his own abilities and he would try to overcome these beasts. He very rarely used his fighting skills, preferring words to swords. His tongue was sharp enough without having to resort to blades. These creatures, however, probably did not even comprehend language, let alone respond to it.

He flexed the fingers on his right hand, ready for when they came through. Which would be soon. The portal shimmered, a blue light appeared and all noise in the room ceased. He heard some backing away. Their thoughts were now solely focused on the emerging gateway. Noalith raised his glittering hand. A black shape emerged in the tunnel. He struck.

The steel fingers, sharpened to a point, extended forth at top speed, striking the thing. It ceased moving at once. Like a fisherman with a rod, he realed in his catch and revealed the dying monster. It was almost humanoid in shape but the muscles were far too large and disproportionate to be anything remotely human. The face was dark, the same colour as his, though it, thankfully, held no other similiarities. Everything about it was mutated, sharpened and deadly.

He was thinking about taking it in for examination when it changed. It thinned, paled and altered, becoming the body of an elf. A female wood elf with fiery hair and a diagonal scar across her chest. The eyes were still violet and the blood she bled was pure white but she was no different from any other. He shook the body off the fingers that pierced her chest and stomach and let her lie.

The room was moving again. People were beginning to slowly take in what was happening. The portal flickered out again as Noalith's attention span faded. Even the Princesses of Alqualond was silent. Noalith had not even had the chance to get inside her mind when she died so he had to look for physical evidence to suggest what she was.

First thing: how was her blood the white of a Drow and her eyes that unnatural colour? Elf eyes were often blue, brown or green, not bright violet. It was Drows who had the more startling eye colours like violet, gold and scarlet. Noalith was considered quite abnormal for having such an elven eye colour. The Prince of Alqualond was now sniffing the corpse in cat form at his feet.

Looking around at his audience, he saw the Princess of Alqualond and her serving woman glaring at it with suspicion. The serving woman of the Princesses of Ithil'orad was faintly sick and the Princesses themselves were not looking at all. In fact, they were so absorbed in themselves that they were not even paying attention. They vaguely registered what was going on but were not as ruffled as the others. Things going on outside their little two-peopled world were of little importance to them, after all.

Noalith hauled the body to a table and spread it out to examine it. The serving woman of Ithil'orad was feeling even more sick and the serving woman of Alqualond was annoyed at his lack of respect for the dead. Noalith indeed felt that he had no respect for the dead. Once dead, that was it. There was nothing but an empty husk left to be disposed of. There was talk of souls going on into the next world or staying with the body but Noalith believed none of it. He did not believe that a body that could not appreciate beauty should be given a grand resting house, merely a lit match.

Wherever he cut the body, he found white blood in the veins. To the general disgust of the room, he extracted an eyeball and examined it closely. The violet colour was there with no trace of dye. Just the white blood that led to the iris. It was unnatural, there was no doubt about it. This body was definitely changed by exterior forces. Perhaps the scar would provide more clues.

He used a bowie knife he had bought before coming to Hogwarts to slice open the wound anew. This time, the serving woman protested aloud but Noalith was not paying the slightest bit of attention. He had found the still heart but that was not what bothered him. The flesh beneath the skin was a stained sort of black, marring the pink muscle beneath. At more protesting, he carved out a section of this flesh to examine it,

"_Now, see here, Nimohtar!_" snapped the serving woman, her short hair seeming to spark with anger. She was a very moral, uptight sort of elf and did not like the defacement of the dead, "_This poor woman was once an elf and should not be carved up like your Autumn festival meats!_" This, Noalith took offence at. Though elves were strictly vegetarian, Drows were not. This did not extend to Noalith who did not like to consider himself as a Drow. However, he kept his tongue to himself and continued with his work regardless. However, he did decide to move into his own room to avoid the irritating glares.

His room was small and wood-paneled. That was fine with him, though. He did not desperately need space. He found that magic could make up for a lack of space, especially with the Undetectable Extension Charm he had discovered. A useful piece of human magic which he utilised on his trunk and the chests that appeared in his chamber. Most of which were filled with things he intended to sell in his apothecary or use as part of his University course. Yes, he did trespass and take from animals he killed but it was justified, he felt. The animals were dumb and did not hear him coming, let alone knew they were dead.

The flesh was dark all the way through and, though he poured all sorts of potions and powders on it, could not distinguish any poison that could have done it. He knew of unctions that could blacken the flesh two months after death but to appear straight after it...Now, that was unprecidented. Poisons had developed far beyond showing any visable signs. Why would anyone be so careless?

And there was the monstrosity of it too. Poisons induced mania, hallucinations and some mutation but not to this extent. Those that did certainly did not leave traces like this. There were traits he recognised but, put together, they made no sense. It was rattling. His extensive knowledge of poisons and spells and he could come with nothing.

Instead, he tried to make sense of the white blood, which he effectively squeezed from the flesh into a tube. He heated it and swivelled it to seperate the liquids. A clear solution settled on top of the white but, on closer examination, it was mere plasma. No imperfection, no poison, just plain plasma. The blood was pure white. Like a Drow's blood..._wait_...

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Herenda still fumed. The nerve of that Nimohtar to carve up the body of an innocent woman! She threw herself into a chair, folding her arms tightly over her chest. He was a Nimohtar, for heaven's sake! He, of all people, should uphold the basic laws of the dead. The Nimohtar of her land would never even dream of such a thing.

That Nimohtar just made her blood boil. All of his actions were immoral and not at all befitting of someone with his title. He had the Rinatula, granted, but she didn't care if he knew what she thought of him now. He had failed in his watch over Draco, desecrated the dead and was now using it for his own twisted experiments, no doubt,

_Drows are all the same: savage, meat-eating monsters. Even half-Drows who have elf blood in them have no elven dignity._ Herenda had met very few Drows and, even then, that was mostly in battle, when she was fighting them. She didn't want to think that she was prejudiced. She did not think badly of the Nimohtar because he was half-Drow. She thought badly of him because he was...well, because he was awful, _It is not prejudice if his behaviour earns my disfavour._

The twins stood a little way off, not paying attention to any of this. This was natural but Herenda sometimes wished that they paid more attention to her. That they shared her views on the Nimohtar so they could have a good rant about him. The Princess of Alqualond was too savage for her tastes, her serving woman was too concilitory and the Prince of Alqualond was most unpleasant. Not to mention that any humans were out of the question.

Herenda felt irritated. She had not really wanted to come to the human world. She was only there as the mouthpiece for the twins but she had a life of her own too. She was only needed when the Princesses' voices needed to be heard, which was rare. She was a lady in her hometown, from a family of Earls who owned part of the West Mountains. Unlike the servants of the other Princes and Princesses, her presence was not always required. She had a social life and a family but she could reach none of them in the dull human world. She could not even roam the Ithil-orad landscape when she was not needed.

She could roam in the Forbidden Forest but there were only certain times when she could, almost always at night, _Honestly, what is wrong with these teachers? _She always thought, _Do they actually expect us to remain cooped in dead stone learning the most trivial things while nature is waiting for its pupils?_ Herenda prided herself in having fixed morals but that didn't mean she couldn't break a rule. Rules and morals were two different things to her. Rules were exclusive to certain places to ensure order. Morals were universal to ensure dignity.

Order and dignity. Neither things did the half-Drow possess. Still irritated and not wishing to stay another moment in this tense place, she divested herself of her robe so she was only clad in her shirt and trousers (a redeeming feature of humans was that their fashions were very practical). Here, she flung the window open wide. She did not care for others calling after her.

She leapt fearlessly off the ledge and into the rushing air, like she did back home. Off the balcony, down a terrifying drop and into the lake below. Her body pierced the water like a spear into a Warg. She cared nothing for the cold of the water. This was nowhere near as bone-chilling as the icy water of the lake outside her bedroom window. Her lake was cleaner though and she made sure to keep her eyes shut so as not to let her eyes become afflicted by what floated in it.

The surface broke and she blinked in the sunlight that was ever so slightly veiled by thin clouds. Swimming to the bank, she vaguely heard people in the grounds calling out to each other, pointing her out. Right now, she could not care less. She yearned for a return to the mountains, to feel more at home in this dead place.

Mountain elves, despite their name, felt at home in woodland or in mountains. Another name for them were Nature elves, though it was only used among the most pure-blooded of her race. Like her. Thus, as soon as she entered the shade of the trees, she was home at last. There were some woodlands in Ithil'orad. Mostly pines and evergreens but she liked those. She hated things that had to grow old and wither like leaves in the autumn.

Herenda plunged herself into the wild beauty of the place. Soon, the ugly castle was out of sight, blocked by the thick wall of trees. Now, she was back home at last. Nature had its own dignity, its own rules of life governed by what you are born with. No complications, no rules and just instinct. And she loved it. She was born with her morals and she would die with her morals.

Now, she was calm and she had stopped thinking about the immoral half-Drow. At ease, she flopped down onto the cool grass. It was a cold day but, with living in the mountains, cold was not an issue to its inhabitants. She was used to going out half-naked in snow, sleet and ice. It didn't bother her. It was just something to fortify her body against before going out. It simply amazed her that humans had to wear furs and retreat in cabins when the cold was too much. Did it not occur to them to simply regulate their body temperatures? Or could they not?

As she lay, she became aware of voices in the distance. No, not quite in the distance. They were coming closer. As she lay lethargically on her bed of earth, she picked out the voices of McGonagall, Snape and Filch, "Ugh." She groaned. She disliked all of these three people. McGonagall was too pushy, Snape thought too highly of himself and Filch's whole manner disgusted her. As she listened more intently, she could pick out the words,

"...way. I can see tracks here. It looks as though our daredevil is barefoot."

"He could not have gone far. The cold of the water must be catching up with them now."  
_Fools._ She thought, _As if cold water could affect me, who have done this thousands of times._ Deciding that she did not want to be caught just yet, she sprang up and darted up a tall pine. They could track footprints but they could not track the tiny indents made on trees. Realising the ground was dewy and her footprints led to her hiding place, she leapt like a squirrel onto another one. Then, another and another until their voices were out of earshot.

Then, she came to a rocky terrain before a large mountain. A delighted grin spread across her face. No one would ever think of looking for a frail little first-year up a treacherous mountain. Still, this body had its limits. She glanced at the Suppression Rosary on her upper arm, _Yes, I'd be great to have decent-sized ears again._ With that, she ripped off the thing and felt a lovely sensation of warmth as she came back into her own body.

She hung the irritating thing on a high tree-branch and leapt up onto the first ledge. She would come back for it later and she did not like having to carrying it. The thing was rough and unconfortable. Its power to seal away her immortality was most unsettling and, as soon as she had taken it off, it was like throwing off a heavy chain.

The whole world lay before her. A mortal, human world but an open one was right there, waiting for her. She couldn't wait.

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Things were much better without Potter. Though, why he was absent, no one really knew. Dumbledore had given the teachers some hurried story of having to go to his relatives because of a family emergency. It seemed hurried to him, anyway. No warning, no going to McGonagall for permission, no word until he was missed the following morning.

Snape found himself twirling the beads around his finger again as he thought it over for what must have been the dozenth time. Stranger still, it came on the day when Draco had been taken out of school as well. As well as that Ravenclaw girl disappearing. Snape had stopped believing in coincedences long ago. Three students disappearing without warning overnight with vague excuses to cover it up.

He did not suspect Dumbledore. He only suspected the validity of his words. There was no proof to suspect anything was going on but he did wonder. That day had been rather an eventful one. Not only were there disappearances but that daredevil who jumped from what must have been the seventh floor and went into the forest.

Which is where he found the beads. They were just hanging on a branch next to a mountain pass where only the most agile creature could go up without suffering terrible injury. So what was an inocuous piece of jewelry doing there? Though, it wasn't so inocuous. He could tell it was magical after doing some tests on it. He could not tell what kind of magic though, although he realised that it was very powerful. He did not dare put it on, for fear it was cursed, or be too close to it. When he was not examining it, he kept it in a sealed box.

He had tried to deciper the strange runes on the stones but no luck. He had drawn them and shown them to the Ancient Runes professor but even they could not decipher them. All he had to go on was that they were similiar to the most ancient runes. The ones that were very rarely found, _Just perfect._ He thought bitterly. The thing had been bothering him with its mystery for days and distracting him enough for the other teachers to notice.

Just as he was thinking of taking it to Flitwick, there was a knock on the door. Putting the thing on the desk, he stood up and opened the door, "Yes?" He did not care for manners. It was probably Filch reporting a Slytherin out of bed. He was surprised however when he saw a hooded figure as tall as he gazing back at him,

"Hello, _Tur_ Snape." A low female voice came from within the cloak, heavy with an accent he did not recognise, "I was wondering...did you happen to come across a string of beads in the forest a few days ago?"

"Why, yes, I have." He said, narrowing his eyes to try and get into this woman's mind. It took a bit of effort to conceal his shock when he could not, _An Occlumens? There seems to be a lot of them about nowadays, even among the students..._"Is it yours?"

"Yes, and I would rather like it back, please." When Snape did not move, she straightened herself up a little and added, "If you do not return it to me, I shall resort to theft. I merely asked you for it as a pleasantry."

"Very well, miss...?"

She made no answer but took the beads right from his hand and was away before he could stop her, leaving him with another mystery on his hands.

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A/N: Well, I did my best on short notice. I'm going on holiday for a bit next week so there will be another delay.


	13. A Belated Meeting

A/N: I'm really losing inspiration here. Damn you, Oblivion! Taking my interest away from Harry Potter!

**miss quirky bookworm: **Thanks!

**RRW:** An extra big thanks to you! Your comment gave me a good idea for this story!

**evildictionaryninja: **She is a bit of an idiot, yes.

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 13: A Belated Meeting**_

Monster after monster fell in the Void. Every time he heard one coming, Noalith lazily extended his fingers, killing them with ease. There was no point in collecting the bodies; that would only slow him down and someone else could do it later. On, he strode, ploughing through the monsters until he found the edge of the Void, where he knew the elven world lay.

He could not be happier to be going to the elven world. Anything was better than putting up with the Princess of Alqualond's thoughts and Ithil'orad's serving woman. He was sincerely glad when she left for the wilderness after becoming so worked up over nothing. He could not help but be insulted by her thoughts. Though he knew that he did things that were, so to speak, controversial, he did not consider himself immoral.

The white gateway opened in the darkness before him and Noalith stepped out into a green woodland, _Ah, fresh immortal air!_ He breathed in deep and allowed it to flood his lungs. Glancing around, he tried to get a good idea as to where he might be. Woodland was commonly Valivian and the oaks were more testament to that. But, where in Valivial? Since this was a makeshift portal, he had no way of telling for certain where he had landed,

"So, where are we?"

Noalith jumped at the dreamy voice and whipped round, astonished. It was..._But, how can it be?_ "Miss Lovegood?" His mind was in complete disarray again, just as it had been when he had investigated the monster's flesh,

"Hello, Noalith." Her face was alight with happiness and wonder. Her thoughts...were nothing. He could hear no thoughts from her,

"Wh-what?" He had tried to keep the stutter from his voice and failed miserably,

"The Princesses of Ithil'orad gave me a potion they made. I drank it, lay down in the Room of Requirement and here I am."

"Ah, of course!" He could have smacked himself on the forehead for not guessing it sooner, "I know of an unction that can seperate the conscious from the body and transport it to another place. It is visible only as a ghostly form, such as you are now. I cannot see your thoughts because your thoughts are not here."

"Oh, really?" Luna looked quite intrigued at this and Noalith frowned,

"Are you telling me that you drank something that you did not know anything about?"

"Oh, I knew it wasn't poison." She said, as though this was obvious, "I know the Princesses would never do anything like that. They're nice people. I just said that I was worried about you coming alone so they must have given me this so I could accompany you. The Elven world is very beautiful. Is this Valivial?"

"Yes." Noalith nodded. Her trust seemed almost naive but he knew she was better than that, "It is. How clearly can you see? Flawed potions can produce very blurred images."

"No, it's all fine." She shook her head and strode over to him, her clothes rippling in a non-existant wind, "I can see you very clearly."

Noalith nodded, "Good. Now, please explain what possessed you to wish to come here in such a dangerous time?"

"I just wanted to see you." She did not flinch at all at his rebuke, "You've been working so hard, I've heard, since Draco was captured."

"When did you find all this out?" Noalith was finding his inability to read her mind very frustrating. He did not like to resort to asking the questions out loud. He thought that he sounded like an idiot, which he extremely disliked. Luna didn't seem to think so, though,

"Oh, Marilla and Elivor told me. They weren't very complimentary of you when they were doing it. The Princess of Alqualond was having a fit. She loves Draco very much, doesn't she?" She added, seemingly on a whim, "But she doesn't really pay any mind to other people."

Noalith felt another pang in his head, the last vestages of his hangover combined with the blows to the head he took. As though the lumps remembered who had made them at the mention of her. Luna's bright smile endured,

"Where do you intend on going?"

"The nearest civilisation. I need to find out anything I can about where exactly we are and what is going on here. Come. Since you are so eager to follow me, you may as well."

The potion she had drunk so unguardedly would last as long as the person she wanted to see was in that world, if made correctly and potently enough. It was often used to provide a link between worlds when the message-giver did not have time or opportunity to deliver it themselves. He had heard of people missing their companions enough to do it but he had not be away nearly long enough for Luna to miss him. It was certainly risky and considered a last resort sort of action.

He saw the shadow of buildings ahead and began to speed up. Luna jogged to keep up and, soon, the trees broke. They emerged into a large town with terraced houses but no people bustling around. All sounds were coming from within the houses and they were few and far between. He could not see anyone. Not a single living being was in the streets, not even a tiny mouse.

Luna finally caught up to him and looked around, "It looks like a ghost town."

"Yes." Noalith stood in the middle of the dusty street and glanced about the place, "I hear people in the houses, though. Why on earth would they want to stay indoors? Elves like the sun, after all." He added, just as he felt the heat beat down on him. He would probably get sunburnt soon and should seek shade,

"A flood warning?" Luna suggested but then corrected herself, doing her usual trick of thinking aloud, "No, there's no water nearby. A crime wave?"

"I doubt it. There would be soldiers all over the place if there were. Elves are a very reactive race."

"An animal attack, then?"

"Perhaps." He held up a hand to stop her talking and concentrated hard. He could hear movement far away. Still in the vicinity of the village, though. Raising his arm, he readied his fingers to extend and strike. His heart was pounding in his chest without him realising it and he closed his eyes. Taking deep breaths, he tried to steady himself but his legs would not stop shaking. What on earth was he so nervous about?

He tried to unpick voices and noises from the tangle of sounds in the air. Having trained his ears especially for this, he could hear across longer distances than ordinary people. He knew that it was a Drow skill but he also realised that it was a useful one so he suffered to learn it. He could hear the panting of some beast running. It sounded more animalistic than human, like a Warg or similiar. It was running, the footsteps were drawing closer. Heavy, swift and heading right for him.

Crashes followed, as well as a snarl. A very familiar sort of tone. It was the voice of the creatures he had slain in the Void. Those mutated, constructed creatures that bore Drow flesh and blood. Behind the creature, there was a pursuer. Perhaps two pursuers. One light-footed and wearing robes, probably, judging by the rustling. The other flying, swift and spirit-like. That was the one speaking,

"_...here, you fiend!_"

His hearing told him that the creature was coming down the alley that would come right into the road he was standing in. The pursuers were gaining on it but it would not be quick enough. He lifted his hands and let the fingers descend. They hit home with ease, the sound of steel piercing sullied flesh music to his ears. The pursuers halted and he did not have to open his eyes to know they were staring at him.

Luna gave ghostly steps forward, which tinkled like little bells like a seperated consciousness should, "Oh, my!" She gasped,

"Forgive me." Noalith guessed that she was shaken from seeing the body morph back into an elf, "This person was dead already. Killing the beast it became is the best thing for it-"

"_Who are you?_"  
The voice startled him. No, not just startled him. It shook him straight to the core. Though he could not think why. Did he know that voice? He could not locate it within his memory, no matter how hard he looked. He could not open his eyes either. They seemed to have sealed themselves up and they would not seperate.

This lack of control frightened him. More than when he had seen the world for the first time. He knew the person was coming towards him, the robes were whipping in the wind that pushed through the place. And something else too. A sound like swishing grass. He realised that it was the sound of hair blowing and yet, he had known that the voice was male.

The light footsteps stopped merely half a foot from him. There was silence, ringing and terrifying silence, where Noalith stood with his eyes still unbareably closed and the stranger before him. That stranger, who was delicately touching his forehead with thin, gloved fingers and repeating the question, "_Who are you?_"

_Why? Why can I not open my eyes?_ Noalith realised his hands were shaking violently and the fingers, which had since withdrawn, were still frozen in the air. Another hand, this one bare, slowly and gently wrapped around it. The voice lost its careful edge and became elated, "_Are you my boy?_"

Noalith was shaken anew. The steel hand, which he had kept under a flesh-coloured glove all the time, was what defined him as Manastreth's child. If he was calling him 'my boy'...He had no time to react, however. The hand enclosed around his and he felt something warm and flat press against his forehead.

_He couldn't have been more happy. His wife had been kept safe for a year to this day and so was his beautiful son. As he sat in his cabin with her, he felt that there was no greater joy. The creaking of the swaying ship and the blustering sea air outside bothered neither of them. She was beautiful, a Wood elf that had a smile like the angels, and he was sure his son would grow up to be like that as well. The child lay in his arms and looked up at him, some of his dark hair falling from his face,_

_"Papa." The little baby boy reached out to him with his tiny hands and grasped a lock of his long white hair, "Papa."_

_"His first word." His wife said, proudly, "Oh, he adores you, Mana."  
_Noalith gasped, his eyes snapping open at once. What he had just seen, what he had heard, what he had felt, was so completely vivid and real. He could almost feel the warmth of his infant self upon his arms fading from him. His eyes met with liquid gold and he gazed straight into the face of his father.

All Manastreth's thoughts flooded into him. But, they were so confusing to him. Every opinion and perception he had of Manastreth was wrong. Every thought he had read was those who had never even seen him. Within his mind, he saw only kindness and tenderness. He had been controlled by his generals and desired nothing but a family. Hari had been the bloodthirsty and heartless one, who had murdered the children that had been snatched from him and placed the blame upon Manastreth.

Yet, his father had forgiven him for it. He had humbled Hari and was now guiding him to be merciful. Hari had gone to fight a Drow Warmistress that had created these creatures but had found that she had bewitched Draco to turn against him, making him desperately ill. Now, Manastreth was searching for the Drow Warmistress in the hopes that Draco could bring Hari to his senses.

He was too in shock to realise that his father was embracing him. Too amazed that his Rinatula could be so wrong. Never had he been so astonished at his own mistake since he had lost Draco to thinking he could take more alcohol than he really could. It made him feel so small and fragile. Something he never usually felt, being so reliant upon his Rinatula,

"_My boy._" crooned his father, "_You survived. Thanks the gods._"

"_Papa..._" Noalith's voice came out all wrong. It sounded so weak and childlike. He sounded completely pathetic but he could do nothing against it. This was something the Rinatula could not have prepared him for. So many emotions were flooding through him in a complex tangle, like a thousand voices shouting at once. Never had he been so confused or frightened in his life.

Where had he gone so wrong? What had he not taken note of? Why had he not seen it in Hari's mind? Or any of the other soldiers that had fought on the ship? Was his gift of seeming omnipitance not so all-seeing after all? His Rinatula had been his safeguard ever since he was a child. He had learned all in an advance and he had no surprises that he had not learned of the day before. This surprise, this shock, was just overwhelming.

At once, it was as though the last eleven hundred years had never happened. It was though he had just come into this world and Manastreth was the first person he had ever met. Everything seemed thousands of times bigger and more terrifying. His throat closed up and he began to feel dizzy. Instinctively, he gripped his father's white robes for support and closed his eyes to stop everything spinning,

"_Fear not, dear one._" His father's voice whispered in his ear, "_I have found you._"

Noalith's legs gave way and he fell to his knees, boneless with relief. His father sank with him, clutching his son. At once, his feet had left the ground and he was leaning against his father's warm, white chest. He clasped a handful of long white hair as though it were a life-rope and sank into the darkness.

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When he awoke, all was quiet. His senses were not yet fully atuned and he could not hear anything. Then, sounds began to form. The whistle of the wind through the trees, the rustle of leaves and the sound of his father's heartbeat. He had not yet released the lock of hair. Opening his eyes, he blinked against the sunlight. Raising a hand against it, he saw the dark face of Manastreth looking down at him with that gentle smile,

"_Thank the gods you are awake, Noalith._"

"_How-how do you...know my name...?_" His voice still sounded pathetic. He tried desperately to pull himself together. How could he had just broken down in front of his father like that? Just because he had made one mistake!

"_Your friend told me._"

Luna nodded, still hovering over him,

"Your father doesn't understand English so Bellime translated."

"_Bellime?_" He did not use his Rinatula this time but looked over at the floating spirit woman. It was a sword spirit, there was no doubt, but why was it with Manastreth? He had not picked that up while reading his mind. Nor did he want to read his father's mind anymore. He wanted to talk to him, to hear his voice, to hear his story, "_She has abandoned her master?_"  
"_Temporarily._" Manastreth stated, "_She will return to her master in time._"  
"_We shall see._" Bellime interrupted. Noalith theorised that she had lost faith in Hari and he could not blame her, knowing what he had done,

"_Oh, but my boy. I desire nothing more than to hear your story._" Manastreth let him slip off his lap and sit on the log beside him, "_Tell me of how you escaped, how you have lived and how you have come here today._"

Noalith told his story slowly, reluctantly admitting how he had made the error of believing his father to be a monster. However, his father forgave him, as he expected and hoped, and listened closely to the rest. He was a very good audience; he gasped in all the right places, his emotions going up and down with the tale and, when he had reached the end of it, he had clasped his son's hands fearfully,

"_Dear Noalith,_" He said, at the end, "_I am sure you know what mission I am upon with your Rinatula. To retrieve Draco and save Hari, whom we both love._"

"_You may be drawing closer._" Noalith nodded, "_I heard voices within the houses that the attacks started a week ago. How long has it been since you have left the monastary?_"  
"_This is my second day away from the place and the noontime is waning fast. We must make haste from this place. I fear that we are not far from them._"

"_Father,_" The word seemed to stick in his throat a little and he had to force it out since he was not used to using it, "_let me accompany you. I wish to learn from you, like Hari. No, not from you. About you. Not from the Rinatula but from being with you. Forgive me for breaking down earlier. It was just so overwhelming to learn that even the most all-seeing of us can be wrong, in even bigger ways than those who are blind. I will follow you to Draco and to Hari, as is my duty as a son and a friend._"

Manastreth's smile increased in warmth, if that was possible, "_So be it. Our journey will be made all the more pleasureable with each other's company._"

Looking around, he saw Luna chatting to Bellime. She was not at all surprised or afraid that it was a sword spirit, as she seemed completely aware of it. For the first time, he appreciated just how amazing Luna was. She took everything in her stride and was willing to believe even the most extraordinary things. Yet, she was not naive. She knew when something was false. The perfect companion and _Elenshar,_

"Will you come, Luna?" He asked. She turned to him with a wide smile,

"Yes, of course! Where you go, I go."

Manastreth nodded and beckoned them forward, "_Come. To the Warmistress._"

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A/N: How was that? Was Noalith's fainting fit a bit far-fetched because I'm a bit worried about that.


	14. The Deception

A/N: Okay, I'm a bit more in the game now. HBP is about to come out and, even though I'm not that excited about it, I can concentrate a bit more on this.

**miss quirky bookworm: **Oh, thank goodness for that. I was getting worried.

**evildictionaryninja: **Thanks very much!

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 14: The Deception**_

"_Halt!_" Bellime thrust out a ghostly arm and glared straight ahead. The other three hastened into the shadow of the trees and, sure enough, they spotted a light on the horizon, just at the crest of a hill, "_Noalith, listen closely. What is there?_"

Noalith closed his eyes and looked as though he was concentrating hard. Luna kept by his side and did not move. She knew that hearing was his best sense and moving would just distract him. Manastreth and Bellime followed her example. It was obvious that Manastreth was Noalith's father, Luna thought. They looked so alike, with their long hair (though Manastreth's hung around his ankles) and their face shapes. Though, she had to admit, Manastreth's looked more kindly and warm while Noalith's, up until now, had been hard and calculating.

It was astonishing what a change had come across Noalith when he met his father for the first time. She had seen him look so frightened when he had first seen his father and had reasoned that it was the first time his Rinatula had been truly wrong, especially on this scale. From what she had heard before of Manastreth from Noalith, she had thought him a ruthless, bloody tyrant. It turned out that he had been reading all the wrong minds and getting all the wrong information.

Something still puzzled her, though. Hari had to have known about Manastreth's true nature having apparantly fought him. Yet Noalith was a very close friend of Hari's. Then, she remembered that it was harder to spot something one was not looking for. Maybe Hari had pushed it to the back of his mind as well to make it even harder for Noalith to find. No one was a total clairvoyant after all.

Still, it was a good lesson for Noalith not to overly rely on his gift. It was common for people to rely on one thing that promised to cover everything one needed. It seemed it was that way for Elves as well. Noalith gave a small gasp and uttered something in an Elven language. Luna knew only a few words of the language and, though she managed to pick out a few words, she could not piece together the sentence. Those words were 'drow', 'camp' and 'hill'; more than enough for her to get the gist.

This was it: they had found the place where Draco was held with the Warmistress. Luna knew that, being just there in spirit, she could not be hurt but it did not stop her dreading what lay at the top. Noalith straightened up and turned to Manastreth, asking him something in Elvish. This time, she only needed to pick out the word 'Draco' to realise what he was saying. Was Draco there?

Manastreth closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. Unlike his son, his strongest sense was his sense of smell. When he opened them again, he seemed disturbed and spoke to Noalith in a hushed voice, who translated to her in equally quiet tones,

"Draco's scent is faint. He may be hidden from sight. Underground, maybe. We will be sure when we get closer."  
"Let me go! I will clear the place in ten minutes." Bellime suggested. Luna was fascinated by the spirit woman who was Hari's sword. She was like the Muggle interpretation of nature spirits she loved reading about. Muggles were so fascinatingly creative and Luna absolutely loved it. Just like she loved the look of Bellime, so ethereal and majestic.

After a few hours of travelling with her, Luna thought her the most ruthless and brutal of their band of friends. She supposed it came from being a sword spirit; it must be in her nature to enjoy battle. However, force always seemed to be her answer to everything, which Luna rather disapproved of. She was glad Manastreth was with them, who disliked violence and always looked before he leapt.

Noalith was getting better too. He was becoming more merciful as well, if not in only small ways. She loved the new change in him. He seemed so much more...humane. Manastreth shook his head at this point, making her pay attention to the present. From Noalith's translation, he was saying that they should not attack but keep a close watch.

Luna thought this a very good idea. From this angle, there was no way of telling how many soldiers were there or how tough they were. Their numbers were few as well and, though Noalith and Bellime could cut their way through some, they had their limits. And they did not know whether this was a solitary outpost or a whole group in the wilderness.

The darkness kept them hidden while they skirted about the hill, looking for sentries and other camps nearby. As Luna followed them, she noticed a horrible smell drifting down the hill on the wind. Like burning flesh and the muffled, chilling sound of screaming. Despite herself, she moved closer to Noalith, afraid of what those Drows were doing for the first time.

Bellime eventually grew impatient and looked as though she was about to rush in on her own but Manastreth managed to persuade her to stay put (or Luna assumed that he did). Noalith too began to grow uneasy as the smell increased. After a long while, Luna finally could not wait any longer and whispered,

"What's going on? What are they doing?"

Without looking up at her, Noalith furrowed his curved eyebrows and said in a whisper, "They take recently dead bodies or kill elves themselves and surgically place Drow flesh and blood into it. Drow blood has healing power but Drow flesh mutates the body and, if used too potently, the mind. In ancient times, elves took on small amounts of Drow flesh to give them extra strength in battle and Drow blood to heal the wounded. It causes pain but it works. I have never seen it used to create such monstrosities, though. Combined, they can bring an elf back to life but turn them into a savage monster."

"Is that what we saw in the village where we met your father?" Luna asked, with all the astonishment she felt now,

"Yes." Noalith nodded, tersely, "They become, though I shudder to say it, half-Drow and half-Elf. I dread to say it but their bodies is similiar to mine, though, since it is an unnatural conversion, the savagery is a side effect."

Luna was astonished by this but put that aside to think about it. So, if a body was dead, then the Drow flesh would completely take over and turn them into beasts. What if the conversion took place when a body was still living? What would happen then? Noalith said that it could be used to strengthen and heal but could a conversion take place if the person was alive and, moreover, willing. It was a horrible thought but it could happen,

"Indeed, it is an awful thought." Noalith nodded, having probably read her mind when she was thinking of the possibilities, "I would not like to think of it and I am glad the Drows have not considered it."

He relayed her thoughts to a curious Manastreth, whose cheeks turned grey at the very thought. The Drow equivalent of going pale, she supposed. Luna turned back to the camp, "How long does a transformation take?"

"A week." Noalith said, "Perhaps a few hours more or less. There is no exact amount of time."

Luna tried to pick out figures at the top of the hill. The sky was beginning to lighten and she realised that she did not feel tired at all. She had been going miles with Noalith and Manastreth and yet, she was not weary at all. Perhaps it was because her body was in a relaxed state now and she was only here in spirit. She wondered what her limits were and how much she could take before her spirit exhausted. Would swords simply pass through her as though she were a ghost or would she be jolted back to her own world like waking from a nightmare? There was really no way of telling, she could only guess.

There was movement up ahead. Luna could even hear it: a faint rattling of wood like a carriage. Sure enough, she could see the moving mass coming out from between the tents. Something bell-shaped and with strange holes. It took her a few seconds of looking to realise that it was a cage. One that was clattering ominously as though something very wild and very hungry was inside. Noalith was raising himself too, realising what it was. Bellime was tensing too,

"It is another Hybrid." Noalith whispered and he muttered something to his father. Manastreth seemed not to like whatever his son was suggesting but he nodded. It was only when Noalith raised his hand did she realise what he was about to do. She looked away as he speared the new Hybrid. If she listened carefully, she could hear its dying gasps and the cries of shock from the Drows transporting it.

Bellime took this opportunity and rushed to the camp. It was only a few seconds before she was spotted and the Drows were immediately trying to shoot her down. She laughed menacingly at them as the bolts went straight through her and flew down like some terrible angel of death, throwing aside Drows in her path. Manastreth looked on with dread and discomfort, flinching every time a Drow died.

Bellime was there for a good ten minutes, in which Drows were killed and driven away. Some fled dangerously close to their hiding place and Luna buried her head in Noalith's shoulder in an attempt to hide herself, conscious of the fact that her light hair would be more visible in the dark. It seemed to take an age for the noise to die down.

When it did, Bellime flew over them in victory, doing a few loop-the-loops in ecstacy, "One less Drow camp in the world!" She declared. Manastreth's cheeks were grey again and he looked rather sick. She did not seem to notice her friend's disgust. She was too caught up in her victory. Luna reasoned that she was a sword spirit and this was what she was created for. It still was uncalled for, though,

"Can you stop that, please?" She said, after a while. The sword spirit stopped in her tracks and glared down at her,

"Why?"

"It's uncalled for and Manastreth doesn't like it. It isn't good to celebrate death."

She looked sour but stopped her aerobatics. Manastreth's golden eyes (Luna loved his eyes) turned to her and he said a heavily accented and tentative, "Thank you." Luna beamed back, to show that he had said it right. Noalith sighed, some of his old cynicism coming back,

"As unnecessary and bloody as that act was, it does have its advantages. The camp is now clear and I did not hear any sign of Draco being taken with them. Thus, he must still be in the camp." He asked his father something, which Luna guessed must be 'can you smell him'. Manastreth did another check, saying what Luna knew was an affirmative.

Thus, the three of them strode up to the camp. Luna realised, as she was walking up, that she didn't feel the strain on her legs as one would when walking up a hill. It was just like walking across a flat surface. Yet, she could hear, smell and touch everything as though it was real, _So, I can feel things if they are outside this representation of me but I can't feel anything in my body. My senses are exterior, not interior. How interesting. I should talk to Noalith about this when we have the time._

The camp was indeed deserted, apart from a few bodies. Luna repressed the urge to put a hand over her nose as the full stench of death hit her. She hadn't come across anything this awful since she saw her mother die. But that had just been one body and this was dozens. Drows, ape-like things which she supposed were the drones but no Draco. She assumed that he would at least be crying for help or at least moving enough for Noalith to realize where he was.

Luna then had a terrible thought. Noalith could get from the human world to the elven world with a bit of effort so the Drows certainly could. What if...what if they were taking human bodies as well? What if Draco had been turned into one of the Hybrids? He could have even been the one Noalith had struck down just now. She forced herself back into calm, not wanting to throw off Noalith's Rinatula by her wild thoughts. She almost kicked herself for being so panicky. Perhaps it was the fact that she was in a whole new world that made her so jittery but she was in capable hands and she had nothing to worry about. It was so easy to forget that her body wasn't here.

Manastreth guided them to a tent much larger and more richly decorated than the rest of them. Though Bellime had rent a large gash in it, it still regained its pale beauty in the breaking dawn. In the red light of the sky, it looked eerily bloodstained although it was still relatively clean, though damaged. A wind came through the destroyed place, whipping ashes into the air and chilling her, _I can feel the wind on my skin but it cannot effect anything within me. _Manastreth's hair lifted in the wind and swirled like white gossomer. To Luna, it looked like resting wings, flexing after a long flight. She could really see Manastreth as an angel even without his white hair, in his soul and good heart.

Manastreth led the way, Bellime at his shoulder. She was the opposite of their nerves: quivering with excitement, wishing there was something in there for her to strike down. The tent flap was pushed back and they strode carefully into the dim light. Inside the tent, too, there was little to no damage. Just a small wooden figure knocked over.

The interior reminded Luna of traditional Eastern Muggle pavilions with ropes of jewels hanging from the ceiling, a cushion-piled couch to serve as a bed and rugs stretching out across the room. There was something tribal about it in addition. Such as the dangling fangs and animal skins uses as blankets. These seemingly clashing elements fitted each other very well though in a way only Elves could truly achieve. It did look as though someone was living there as there were clothes draped over the table but Luna realised that it had been very long since they had occupied it. Everything looked too neat, too orderly to be properly lived in.

Then, Manastreth picked up a very human-looking shirt and Luna's heart gave a leap. This had to be the proof that Draco was here as it looked like it was made for a male and the trousers folded beside it was further evidence. Her heart fell just as his face did. Noalith noticed this and his face fell as well. He turned to Luna with great trepidation, "That is the source of the smell. Draco is not here. He has left."

The hope that had once filled her was gone like the wind but she tried to keep everyone's spirits up, "But, we do know that Draco was definitely here. This can prove to be a good lead."

Just as Noalith was about to relay this information to his father, the tent flap flew open and Bellime rushed in. She must have come out when she realised that nothing was in there worth looking at. Now, she had something and clearly wanted to show it to all of them. Soon, she was jabbering away in Elvish, too quick for Luna to pick out any words. Very kindly, Noalith muttered the translation under his breath,

"She has found a prisoner of the Drows which she is quite desperate to show Father." Luna's heart warmed to hear him use the word without fear. It must be wonderful for him to have family at last and love the sensation of it. Then, Bellime uttered something that made Manastreth's cheeks go even greyer and he was out of the tent in a flash. Noalith too hurtled after him so Luna was running full pelt to keep up with the sprinting elves.

They reached a tent with a large chunk taken out of it, which was flying away in the wind, twisting and turning in the air above. Bellime ripped the flap clean off and hurtled inside. This tent was clearly not meant to house anyone. There was nothing of the comfort and luxury there was in the last tent. It was full of empty metal cages, like the one she had seen on the cart. Empty except for one.

Something white was held up in the cage at the far end. At first, Luna thought it looked like an enormous white bird as large as a man. Then, she realised that it was a person, hunched over and wearing white robes. The same sort of robes Manastreth wore, in fact. He seemed to notice this at the same time as she and he hurried over. Noalith whispered in her ear, "It is a monk from the same order my father entered into. They worship three sister deities and veil their bodies. It is the perfect place for Father to mingle with elves without prejudice."

"How did he get here, though?" Luna wondered aloud, "If the Warmistress had been in the monastary, your father would have known. I mean, he would have at least noticed the monk missing."  
"I know." Noalith nodded, as Manastreth was in the process of unveiling the monk, "Father has heard nothing of this. Though," He added, on an afterthought, "since none of the monks show their faces, would it be easy to swap them?" Manastreth gave a cry of shock and gasped a word that Luna did not recognise. Noalith paled considerably, "It is the Prior, the head of the monastry himself!"

Luna gasped and hurried over with Noalith. The elf's hair was shoulder length and was half-done up in a wrecked ponytail. His eyes were wide and wild, gazing back and forth between them. It must be an incredible sight for him: one of his priests, a sword spirit, a half-Drow and a human all together in a just-wrecked camp to rescue him.

It wasn't surprising that he started jabbering in Elvish too fast for Luna to understand and even Manastreth seemed to have to ask for him to repeat what he just said. Noalith, however, frowned as he read the elf's mind and his expression grew darker as time went on,

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes." Noalith's voice was sharp and had a hint of suppressed panic in it, "Something extremely wrong. We're in trouble. He has been held captive here since the Warmistress first arrived here and has never met my father or Hari. The Prior my father knew is presumedly an imposter and, in the worst case scenario, it could be the Warmistress herself." His eyes widened slightly, looking like pale orbs against his browned skin, "She could have even gone on the rampage to lure Hari there to injure him and used Draco to make my father go after him. Oh, gods!" He gasped at the same time as his father, "The monastary has been left undefended and the Warmistress could be laying seige to it as we speak!"

"But," Luna said, trying to make this dire situation sound less frightening, "what would be the point of taking the monastary?"

"The monks worship Turil and thus, it is defensible. Magical barriers and a fierce defence construction can hold great powers out."

"So, the Drows might have a problem?"

"No. These defences take time to power up and, if it is taken by surprise and conquered, it can become a fortress."

"Oh, no." Luna worried aloud, "The Prince is in terrible danger."

"So are the King and Queen." Noalith was truly starting to give way to panic now, "They vowed to stay with Hari so they are under threat as well. I do not think the Warmistress will kill them as they are too valuable to the land. They may hold them hostage or even to ransom."

"Oh, dear. This is very bad." Luna gulped, trying not to let her nerves show.

Manastreth was even worse. He was almost white in the face now at his mistake and at the prospect of what could have happened to Hari. Bellime then had a suggestion and flew out again. When asked, Noalith said, "She is going to try and find one of the Drows she drove out of this camp to take prisoner. We need more details on this plan so we can find flaws and think of a counter manouvre."

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A/N: Oh, no! Everything's going wrong! What will Noalith and Manastreth do next? See you next chapter when I figure it out!


	15. The Prior and the Captain

A/N: The Potter film gave me a few more ideas and helped me get my head in the game a bit. Can't say I enjoyed the film very much, though.

**cyiusblack: **Will do!

**miss quirky bookworm: **Glad you think so.

**evildictionaryninja: **I'm glad you didn't see it coming. That's a good sign.

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 15: The Prior and the Captain**_

Manastreth could barely believe it. He had gone with good intentions, fearing nothing but the Prior's reprimands, and now, he had doomed the place that had so graciously given him sanctuary. All he could do was sit upon the floor in the cage room in a state of numb shock. He realised that he should move, he should help the others, but he could not find the strength to do so.

It all made sense now. The only reason the Warmistress had not acted was because he had been there with Bellime. The two of them and Hari had acted as the shield protecting them. She had dealt with Hari first just to get him to go and find her. It was his own stupidity not to realise it sooner. The deities must have tried to warn him with their vision but he had not listened. He had not thought to look further...

The tent flap opened and the Prior came in with a featherpeach. He held it out nervously to Manastreth, apparently still wary of him. It was hardly surprising after being imprisoned by Drows and then released by someone of the same race. It was natural to not know whether to trust him. Manastreth accepted the offered food and took a small bite, still deep in his self-condemnation.

The Prior looked down upon him, his head tilted to one side, "_So, the imposter inducted you into my order, did they?_" His voice was painfully sharp which told Manastreth that the elf did not just distrust him, he disliked him as well. All Manastreth could do was nod in the face of this, "_Let me clarify one thing for you, shadowborn. If it were me at that time, I would have turned you out before you had even reached the thorns. You Drows are nothing but a blight on Valivial._"

This was taking it a bit too far, even Manastreth had to admit. The long-dormant urge to retort angrily welled up within him, as it normally did when he was not his usual self. He managed to repress it though, just as he bit back a few tears. Instead, he swallowed his bit of featherpeach and plucked at his now rather dingy white robes, "_We wear robes that cover our whole bodies to show the world that the priests are unprejudiced. Or, so I was told by the imposter. Is it something different?_"

The Prior's face changed. In fact, he looked a little insulted, as though Manastreth had said something rude. Though he had tried to say it in the most polite way he could, "_I meant,_" said the elf, "_I would have done that at the time. You, you're different from the others. Believe me, I know what Drows normally act like. I could see you were different straight away. I thought that you were another imposter for a moment but your face is too kind for that. Tell me, shadowborn, what's your name?_"

"_Manastreth._" He tried not to take offence at the slur. Shadowborn was a little less rude than dunskin but still offensive. He let it slide though. After all, having been tormented by his kind, he could not expect the elf to act any differently, "_In your order, I was known as Father Mana._"

"_Alright, 'Father Mana'._" He nodded. The elf was still aloof but was no longer hostile, "_What made you want to join the Order of the Three Sisters? What drew you from your kind's bloodthirsty ways to the righteous path of the deities?_"

"_Only my soul and my instinct, Prior._" Manastreth answered, "_I have never taken a life and never intend to. I am a disgrace among my kind and am often reminded of it. All my life, I have only endevoured to keep my loved ones safe while my kin have endevoured to keep their warlike ways. I have success and failure. It seems now that I shall fail again this day._"

"_What makes you say that?_" The Prior seemed more interested now, losing more of his aloof attitude,

"_There were others with me who joined the order. My daughter and a friend whom I think of as a son, who wishes to atone for past crimes._"  
"_I think I know a bit of how you feel, 'Father Mana'._" The elf's dark eyes looked away, suddenly narrowing, "_I know every one of the priests in my Order. All of them are now in terrible danger and all I can do is stand here. I know not if they are dead, imprisoned or, worse, transformed into one of those...Hybrids, you call them? I know not how long I have been kept in that cage, waiting for when I was going to be killed._"

Manastreth stood and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, realising how helpless and useless he had felt and still was feeling. Even now, when he was free, neither of them could not do anything. Any attempt on the monastary would be most likely suicide; they had no weapons, no intelligence and no plan. All they could do was wait for those things to appear.

Each second seemed like an eternity. Each second, a priest could be dying, dozens more suffering. Draco could be doing terrible things while under the influence of the Warmistress' spell. Hari could be dead or tormented by her. Melda and Antion, who had never done anyone any harm, could be...He did not want to think about what terrible things might be happening to them,

"_I am an Elenshar, you know._" This statement made Manastreth interested though not distracted, "_When I was mortal, I was the boy known as Sirius Black. Or, as they know me in the Wizarding World, mass-murderer Sirius Black. Ah, don't give me that face. The charges are total pig swill. You never know until you're immortal how easily humans get the wrong idea about things. A cowardly human known as Pettigrew killed the people I was meant to kill. I'm like you; I've never taken a life and I would never do so._"

"_What made you want to come here?_" Manastreth asked, hoping that the conversation would help him take his mind off things. He had never known he was once a human. Perhaps this was why the King and Queen recommended him,

"_I met an elf when I was about seven. I was so like my family back then, full of stupid ideas like blood purity and that magic mattered the most in the world. We were one of those who clung to our heritage and scorned those who did not. Then, I met her. She was hiding in the attic of my house from a Drow that had pursued her into the human world. I thought she was a fallen angel when I first saw her._

"_I kept her a secret from my parents on her request and visited her every night to bring her food. We got talking and I found out she was one of the Akhohr. She had been a priestess for a time before becoming a soldier and she took me to visit her world. I tell you, the first time I saw Valivial, it was love at first sight. I spent a good few months there and nearly forgot I was human. When I went back, it was like waking up from the best dream you could imagine._

"_I was changed from my time in the Elven world. I wasn't the ignorant, bigot boy I once was. I changed so much in such little time and I was disowned for it._"

"_Disowned?_" Manastreth repeated, alarmed,

"_Yeah. That was the way of the world back in those days. I met up with the Queen and, when she found out I was an Elenshar, she took care of me. She got me into the Order of the Three Sisters and I lived a happy double life between mortal and immortal. But the Wizarding War grew worse and more of my attention was needed. In the end, I was framed for a crime I did not commit and was thrown in prison. I still had the materials to make a portal into the Elven realm which the Queen gave me. I lived a double life again: between elven and human, heaven and hell. I just couldn't take it anymore after twelve years and I've never gone back after that. And, I don't intend to, either. I've had enough of humans._"

"_Surely, humans are not all like that._" Manastreth said, consolingly,

"_Yeah, I know. It's just most of them._"

Manastreth's lips turned down at his bitterness. He knew how easy it was to assume that was the treatment he would receive from all humans if he had been through enough. He knew the pain of being falsely accused well and he hoped that Sirius had not been too badly tormented. On closer inspection, he could see how hollowed his cheeks were and how abnormally pale he was. After a dark silence which Manastreth found choking, he finally found the courage to change the subject,

"_Did you ever find out who that elf was that hid in your attic?_"

"_Yes._" He was glad to see the elf's face lighten at this question,"_Her name is Florial and she is one of the captains of the Akhohr now._"

"_Captain Florial_?" Manastreth blinked, surprised,

"_You know her?_"

Their conversation was cut short by voices outside. A peek around the tent flap told them that Noalith and Bellime were back. A Drow with a nose so small that his face was almost flat was being led towards them. The Drow's eyes widened at the sight of Manastreth and he broke free of Bellime, rushing to him. To their amazement, he prostrated himself before him and gasped,

"_My Drow brother! I did not think any had survived the attack!_"

Manastreth realised what he was thinking in an instant; the soldier thought he was on his side and was asking for help. His heart sank like a stone; he did not want to disappoint the clearly frightened soldier but he did not want to deceive him either. Bellime solved this dilemma by brutally pulling him back, saying,

"_Don't even try it. He is with us._"

"_Bellime, please be not so rough with him._" Manastreth pleaded, as the Drow's smile vanished abruptly. Luna nodded as his son translated. From Noalith, he gained that she was saying was,

"_He is right. Should we desire him to cooperate, we should at least treat him with respect._"

Bellime, looking sour again, pointed to the tent, indicating that the Drow should go inside. As he passed Manastreth, he could be heard saying, "_A disgrace to your kind._" Manastreth felt a small flush of shame at these words. It reminded him of Nestriv and Renewl. He still regretted not being able to save them even now all these years later, _Guilt never dies._

Bellime wanted to lock him in one of the cages but Luna put her foot down and insisted on putting him in a chair. The Drow was now insolent and snarling at all of them, calling Luna a 'weak, boneless mortal that he could crush in a second'. Noalith snarled in response and an argument threatened to spark between them until Sirius stepped in between them,

"_Enough. Let's try and be civilised about this. Don't stoop to his level._"

Noalith composed himself and instead worked on binding the Drow with magical ropes. The Drow snarled with discomfort all the way through and Manastreth noticed that the Drow had a small semi-circle cut out of his left ear. He recognised this mark from his studies of rival Warlords and Warmistresses, "_The Farhil Sea._" He said, aloud. The Drow nodded,

"_You're rather clever for a traitor._" He sneered. Noalith looked up,

"_You know who this Warmistress is?_"  
"_Not her exact identity._" Manastreth admitted, "_I only know what family she is from. It is the house Rizaka and, if I am not much mistaken, its current heir is Ralshiva._"

"_You are correct._" Noalith nodded, glaring at the Drow, probably utilizing his Rinatula upon him, "_He is named Dhaun Breenyl, one of the captains close to the Warmistress._"  
Dhaun turned grey and his snarl returned tenfold more venomous, "_If you have the Rinatula, then why do you continue with this charade of interrogating me?_"  
"_Our friends and family are in danger._" Manastreth said, thinking it was pointless to not to antagonise him like this, "_Please, if you could give us any information that could help us, I would be much obliged._"

Dhaun stared at him for a moment. His confused expression turned into a smirk, which turned into a laugh, "_A traitor AND a faint-heart! I know who you are now. You're Manastreth Valshares, aren't you? The last ragged Valshares, turned tender-hearted and simpering from his time away from war. How the mighty houses of the Drow have fallen. My mistress has spoken much of you but I never thought it to be true! Hah!_"

The laughter was interrupted by Noalith's steel fingers extending to press against his neck, "_Be silent!_" He snarled,

"_Noalith, please._" The fingers were reluctantly retracted. Sirius snarled,

"_What's the point of being civil to him? He's just going to give us a load of gripe anyway._"

Luna then spoke up. Manastreth loved it when she spoke; she was always so calm and serene. Though he had only picked up a few words of English and could not understand most of what she was saying, he could not help but be reassured by her speech. Noalith translated her musical words into, "_We should get on with this and release him as soon as possible, then._"

Manastreth nodded and turned to the insolent Drow, "_Please, tell us what you know and tell us the truth. I don't want any innocent people to die._"

"_It's a bit late to be worrying about that._" Dhaun jerked his head to one side, "_The monastary will already be taken by now. The drones attacked the place no sooner had you left the place. My mistress is already inside. The King and Queen are our prisoners._" As he spoke, he grew more fervant and manic, "_I quiver with joy to think of it. Elves prisoners of Drows! What a victory!_"

"_You would be wise to keep that joy to yourself around me!_" Sirius snapped, "_I'm running out of reasons why I shouldn't let Noalith gore you here and now. Right, where did they attack from? Is there a secret entrance into the monastary?_"

"_What makes you think I will tell you?_" Dhaun scowled, stubbornly, making Noalith raise his fingers ready. Luna was on hand to stop him though and had laid a hand upon his arm before Manastreth could open his mouth, "_Surely, your dear son could find all this out. Surely, you don't need me._"

Then, Noalith's expression hardened and he extended one finger, "_You make an excellent point. We do not need you._" Manastreth opened his mouth to stop him but the finger pierced the Drow's chest before he could even get the words out. The feeling that went through his heart was as though he was the one being speared. After a muted cry of pain, Dhaun Breenyl looked up at a horrified Manastreth and smiled,

"_Do not despair, faint-heart. I choose death. Long live the Warmistress Ralshiva Rizaka!_" And he breathed his last.

He had no power to speak. His eyes filled with tears as his legs failed him and he fell to his knees. He could vaguely hear people speaking around him but could make no sense of the words. The skin on his face imagined that it could feel Dhaun's soul brush past him as it left this world. After an moment of feeling like he was empty within, a serene voice spoke from above him, speaking words he did not understand.

Looking up through his tears, he saw a pale, moonlike face above him framed with blonde hair. At first, he thought it was Ithilio in his confused mind. Then, he realised it was Luna, probably telling him to pull himself together. But, no. When he looking through his fingers, he saw her gazing patiently up into his face. She did not say anything as he wept without restraint but just looked at him. He had the feeling that she was sharing his grief, though not showing it.

After a while, he felt so wretched and weary that he could barely keep his head up. Luna seemed to see this in him and brushed aside some of his hair from his face. Slowly, Manastreth leaned forward and rested his forehead upon her shoulder. Though he knew she was only here in the spirit, it felt as she was there in the flesh, so solid and real did she seem. There, he rested for what felt like a very long time.

At last, he found the strength to move his legs and managed to stand weakly with Luna's gentle help. Still choking upon his sobs, he stumbled over to the body of Dhaun and unsheathed the sword as the Drow's belt. Then, with infinite tenderness, he carried the poor body from the tent, walking forward until he found the perfect spot on the hillside.

There, he struck the sword into the ground above where he intended Dhaun's head to be. Luna, as though he shared his son's Rinatula, hurried up to him with a large flat shovel. Smiling and thanking her, he began the task of digging the Drow's grave. A task which was tenfold more agonising than anyone had made it out to be. Each shovel-full of earth felt ten times as heavy as it normally would, weighed down with his grief. He had heard of gravediggers who had grown so accustomed to their trade that they sang when they did it. He could not understand how any amount of experience could make one so hard hearted as that.

Luna, being the wonderful girl she was, tidied the body up a little for burial. She pulled his trenchcoat over the wound, closed his eyes and let loose his hair to sit around his dead shoulders. Though she did not weep for the Drow, sadness was apparant upon her. Dhaun was laid in the grave and there was silence. Manastreth felt that he ought to say something but he did not know what to say. He did not know Dhaun at all and only knew what would incriminate him, which was hardly fitting for a graveside speech,

Luna's dreamy voice caught his attention. Again, he could not understand the words but he heard Dhaun's name mentioned. He was sure that whatever she was saying was beautiful and he wished more than ever that he could understand it. Pressing his hands together, he prayed for Dhaun's soul, praying that the deities may still accept him and that his ghost shall rest easy with no regrets.

Once she had finished speaking, Manastreth chanted a funeral dirge under his breath in his native tongue. He had learned it long ago from a text book and hoped he would never have to use it. It seemed, now, as though everything he had dreaded was coming to reality. His children were in danger, as were his friends, death was all around him and it was all his fault.

When the dirge was complete, he began the task of covering up the body. This task was twice as painful as the digging the grave. Little by little, the captain's body was obscured until only his sword remained, poking above the soil. The only testament to show that Dhaun was even there. Manastreth was gladdened to see that he had carried out the tradition of carving one's name on their sword but saddened when he thought of why.

Now, all was silent. The sun was rising to its midday stand above him and there was peace, _Oh, the agony of it._ How could it be peaceful in Manastreth's world with the knowledge that, far away, who knew how far away he was, unarmed and possibly outnumbered priests were suffering. That the King and Queen were prisoners and Turil only knew what was happening to Hari. He shuddered to think of it.

Just then, a hand leaned on the standing sword and Sirius was with them. With an interested eye, he examined the grave, "_This is the way Drows are buried, is it?_"

"_Yes._" Manastreth choked out, "_Drow warriors. It is considered an honour to be buried this way._"

"_You dug this, did you?_" He added, noticing the shovel left abandoned beside it, "_You buried him yourself?_"

"_It was the least I could do for him._"

"_But,_" Sirius looked confused, "_he's our enemy. He should have just been burned to ashes. Don't you have a bit of hate in you?_" Manastreth did not answer. He could understand why Sirius did not comprehend. Inability to understand his actions followed Manastreth wherever he went and he did not want to explain under the weight of his grief. Sirius shook his head, "_You remind me of a human I knew at school. Well, werewolf, actually. Everyone who knew what he was expected him to be a monster and he was nothing of the sort. I think you'd like him._"

Manastreth could only nod. Luna reached up and put an arm around his shoulder, leading him back up the hill. In the Warmistress' tent, Bellime and Noalith stood over a rolled out map upon a low table. Noalith did not look directly at his father but began explaining what all the lines meant,

"_This is the Ambiora Hill, the place of the famous battle where the Queen of the same name defeated three Drow warlords but was chased soon after. She was found in the Order of the Three Sisters monastary, miles away and through a thick line of Drow defences. The masses thought it a miracle but it seems that she used this secret passage,_" He used the same finger he killed Dhaun with to trace the long black line across the paper, "_situated at the very centre of the hill. It leads to the main hall of the monastary, past the defences. The door is concealed under the plaque dedicated to the Queen, which is incredibly heavy to lift and the dark passages are even harder to navigate. The perfect escape route._"

"_It's good enough for the Drows so its good enough for me._" Bellime nodded, "_I say we borrow some weapons and armour then head down there as soon as we can. We'll figure out a good plan once we see what the Drows are up to._"

"_I'm game._" Sirius nodded. Noalith too agreed to this plan. Luna and Manastreth remained silent and troubled.

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A/N: Another cliffhanger. It's all coming to a the climax!


	16. Mela le

A/N: Sorry this is so late. Disaster struck and I lost the first draft of this chapter and I had to redo it all. Plus, it was my birthday this weekend and everyone was round so there wasn't much time for writing.

**miss quirky bookworm: **Are you? In what way?

**evildictionaryninja: **It was a spur of the moment decision to make Sirius the Prior, actually. Hope it doesn't show.

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 16: Mela Le**_

Luna and Manastreth left the tent full of trepidation and dread. Manastreth especially looked strained and troubled. Luna could understand why; he did not want to go to war and fight to kill, much less his own kind. She did not know how much love he had for his race but she did know that he hated to see people die. That was obvious from seeing him watch Dhaun be so heartlessly struck down by Noalith.

Even she was disturbed with how easily Noalith could dish out such swift, terrible punishment on people he did not know and who could have helped them. Had he hardened his heart so that he would throw anyone aside who ceased to benefit him. Like Hari, for example? Or her? She knew it was foolish to think this but it didn't help her imagination running wild with all sorts of heartless things he could do.

To keep a hold on herself, she turned her thoughts to his father, who was sitting alone on a bench, his head in his hands. He was murmuring despairingly under his breath, probably thinking of a hundred reasons why he did not go to war. She could only imagine the conflict that was going on behind those liquid gold eyes. He wanted to save Hari, Melda, Antion and all the monks there. But, he did not want to fight the Drow or kill any of them.

Her heart reached out to him. She did not want to hurt anyone here either, least of all in this world. It seemed ungrateful and ungracious of her to come into this world as a guest and start plotting conflict within it. She could not understand how Sirius within the tent could cope with it.

Again, her mind was going along confusing, distressing routes. So, in another attempt to take her mind off it, she wandered over to a patch of flowers yet untouched by the Drow who had camped there. She liked to think that they had kept it there on purpose because they did not want to harm such pretty plants, although the truth was probably far from that.

As she examined the pinks and the blues, she wondered whether she could take a sprig back to examine at home. Whether they would appear in her pocket back in her body or whether they would just vanish with her. She also wondered what sort of things would be living in there. She knew garknuckles liked to hide in daffodils because it was nice and roomy but these flowers didn't have enough room. What put her off picking them even more was the possibility that nargles might have infested them.

Then again, it was wrong to take from this world without asking. She had already intruded into a world meant only for elves and humans who could blend in. She couldn't add stealing as well to her crimes. It was like the Muggles always said when they went on holiday: take nothing but memories and leave nothing but your footprints. She wasn't even leaving footprints in the ground but she was taking memories with her so that was alright. She was doing a lot better than she ought to.

She looked around and saw Manastreth with his head in his hands still. With a twinge of guilt that she had been looking at flowers rather than comforting him, she hurried over and sat down beside him. Laying a hand on her shoulder, she tried to convey with her face that she felt the same as him. Her father told her that the face spoke more than the mouth about how the person was feeling so she attempted this.

It seemed to work as he seemed a little less strained and more relaxed. He seemed to like her, like she did him. Then, he placed his hands upon her shoulders and leant his head against hers. This, she knew, was his especial gift of projecting his memories onto other people that Noalith had described and experienced. Just as she expected, she experienced wildly vivid visions accompanied by sight, smell, sound, taste, touch and feeling. She saw terrible visions of war and battle, as well as the consequences of it.

His horror was her horror. His grief was shared by her. All emotions were genuine. He did not grieve simply because someone had died. He connected with the person in their last moments, truly connected. Every emotion was genuine and she loved him for it. He did not deceive or convey false feelings; a very rare thing. The message Manastreth was trying to convey was clear; he was scared of fighting and saw no point to it.

When he had finished, she nodded to show that she agreed with his way of thinking. He looked relieved and she wondered if he had met anyone else who earnestly agreed with his opinions. She was in awe of his view on the world. From Noalith, she had gained that the general view of Drows was that they were warlike, barbaric and cruel to anyone who opposed them. Manastreth could not be a bigger contrast to that image, however. She was prepared to wager that not even Elves, who were meant to be peaceable and scholarly, were this pacifist.

What a world they lived in where stereotypes could be so wrong and opinions so unreliable, _Just like the human world, really._ She thought, _With wisdom comes mistakes, with responsibility comes failure. It's the human condition and it seems even immortal elves cannot escape it._ She was glad Noalith wasn't around to hear her thoughts as he would probably come out with something about how elves suffered from it less than mere mortals or something similiar.

She could have uttered 'speak of the devil' when the tent flap opened and Bellime, Noalith and Sirius appeared. Of course, it wouldn't be right to say 'speak of the devil' since she had not uttered a word since she had left the tent. More like 'think of the devil' but now was not the time to ponder over little mistakes like that. Noalith was immediately filling in Manastreth on the plan they had all undoubtably agreed on which probably involved an ambush of the monastary via the secret passage he had spoken of.

That was clear, not only from Noalith's fervant tone of voice but by Manastreth's falling face. This was probably what he feared would be the outcome of this and he was probably weighed down with trepidation and fear at the very prospect of having to go into battle. Again, Luna's heart ached for him. It was then that Noalith turned to her,

"Luna, you must return to your own world. I will find a way to counteract the unction upon you."

"No, you won't. And I won't return." Luna said, firmly. She had decided this much since she had wanted so much to be with him, even in this dark hour,

"What do you mean, girl?" Noalith snapped, clearly not in the mood to entertain debates, "These Drows will be armed to the teeth and ready to cut down the weakest first. Sending you with us would be leading a lamb to the slaughterhouse. Or have the twin princesses not told you that, should you be dealt a fatal blow, your spirit will die and leave your body an empty shell."

No, that hadn't told her that. Nor had he, for that matter. But she did not care. She had been prepared for that sort of eventuality and had thought it quite possible, "Why must we go in and fight at all? Can we not reach an agreement with the Drow? Or negotiations?"

Noalith looked at her as though she had sprouted a second head, "Negotiations? With a whole Drow army and their Warmistress? Where they could strike us all down in one fell swoop? I have never heard anything so preposterious. Do you realise what you are saying, girl? Think of what advantage they have over us."

"The same advantages hold if you ambush them. If anything, an ambush decreases the likelihood of success. Negotiations at least shows that we mean well. Who knows? They may come round."

Noalith groaned, "You have no idea what these sort of people are like. Have I not told you the warlike nature of the Drow race? That is only abetted and encouraged by the fact that they are in the army. They are a proud, hard race. Negotiations are a sign of weakness, which no true Drow would ever be caught doing."

"Are you saying that you're like that, then?" She knew that would touch a nerve and she wasn't wrong. Colour appeared in his cheeks and his eyebrows furrowed so they became more curved than before. It was unusual to see him rise at such a small thing but, then again, it was such a low blow to him and he usually saw things like this coming to give him time to think of a clever answer.

Seeing that he would not answer, she went on, "It seems to me that all you lose when you negotiate is part of your pride. Not all of it, mind. Just some of it. If we ambush them, it seems that we stand to lose much more. There's no good in being quarrelsome. That was how the Airpipples were wiped out, because they never talked about their problems. Then again, they _couldn't _talk so I don't suppose that really counts."

"Talk sense, girl." Noalith snapped, clearly not in the mood to listen to how Airpipples had become exinct. His lips curved to his familiar sneer when he thought someone was not worthy of his time, "I want to hear nothing of your father's echoed ravings. You will return to Hogwarts and let people who are more learned in elven politics and war take care of this dilemma."

"If you say that all Drow are warlike," Luna intercepted, resisting his glare and staring at him full on in the face, "does that mean your father is like that? He doesn't like this any more than I do. Aren't you even going to ask him what he thinks?"

"Father can rescue the monks and find Hari, Draco and the others. He will not fight if he does not want to."  
"I don't think you understand me."

"No, _you_ do not understand me. I have figured out a role for everyone and this does not concern you. There is nothing left to discuss."

"Yes, there is." This was turning into a full blown argument now and Noalith was not going to back down. Neither would she, "It's the fact that you talk about Drows as though they were a collective person, all thinking and acting in the same way. I thought you didn't like that way of thinking. It's the prejudices of Slytherins all over again. I would have thought you were better than that. Perhaps prejudice is blinding you to the fact that the Warmistress might want to negotiate with us."

"Prejudice?" Noalith repeated, his lips pulling back in a snarl, "I am victim to no such thing. I have experienced the Drow way at first hand, Luna Lovegood, and I know what works and what will not!" His voice was rising now and he was becoming frustrated. He was probably not used to having to defend his point so much, "Do not challenge my experience just because you have seen the utter minority!"

"The minority should not be overlooked just because they're hard to find." Luna pointed out, "You're in a minority, for a start. Does that mean we should ignore you?"

All this would touch a nerve, she knew it, and she was not disappointed. His snarl increased until his rather pointed canines were showing. She had heard that Drows had sharper teeth that elves and that probably just increased the elven image of the savagery of the Drow. Luna went on regardless,

"It's a really elven way of thinking, what you're doing. Elves are just like humans: just because of most of them are like that means they're all like that."

Manastreth, realising his son's distress, laid a hand on his shoulder and probably asked about what they were talking about. Noalith repeated what had been said in a condescending tone that made it sound like he was repeating the ravings of a lunatic. This probably would have been insulting to any other person but Luna stood still, listening to the tone.

Not surprisingly, Manastreth's face lightened considerably at these ideas. He glanced at her and smiled when Noalith had finished. When he next pressed his head to hers, he showed her Noalith explaining what Luna had said. The feelings that went through him had been pleasant surprise and delight that a young thing like her could thinks such things. The message was clear; he agreed with her.

Luna beamed happily. It was utterly wonderful to have someone who would not only listen to her novel ideas but actually believe them. This warm, happy feeling in her...it was almost like having a friend by her side. Noalith did not share her feelings, that was clear. His voice rose to a shout and he became more and more frustrated.

This was all new to him, Luna thought. He could predict the argument and contradict it with his Rinatula. He had never encountered anyone whose mind he could not read in advance or who still kept contradicting him despite all his efforts. Soon, his anger seeped into his expression and he was gesticulating violently with his hands in a desperate attempt to make his point. Some people might call it childish but Luna knew it was because he was out of his depth once more.

Manastreth responded with nothing but kindness, sincere kindness. He did not raise his voice over Noalith's shouting. Instead, he waited for a break in the speech before making his point. The same words repeated over and over in Noalith's mouth, while Manastreth managed to think of all new arguements. His sleek black hair was being pulled out of his once-immaculate ponytail as Noalith lost his temper more and more.

It took a little bit of thinking before he realised what was bothering him so much. Hari and Draco were his good friends and he was so worried for them. Perhaps on the same level as Manastreth was worried about the monks. This was what he felt sincerely and he was becoming frustrated that this desire was denied him.

In the end, he raised his flesh fist in blind wrath and aimed a swift punch at Manastreth. This was not an earnest blow, she was sure. He just wanted to get going and end this arguement. Nevertheless, this was caught with ease and rested upon Manastreth's white-robed shoulder. She thought Noalith might break down like he had the first time he saw Manastreth but, instead, he trembled and began speaking in a wounded sort of way. She heard the words 'Hari' and 'Draco' within the intelligable elven tongue.

So, she had been right. And he hadn't hardened his heart. That was good.

She glanced back at Bellime and Sirius, who must be rather bored by now...then had to suppress a double take. There was no one behind them. She gave a small cry to alert the pair of them, who became alert at once. Noalith listened hard while Manastreth scented the air. When they both opened their eyes, Manastreth's face was ashen and Noalith whispered without really needing to,

"They have vanished from our senses."

All thoughts of making her leave or negotiations gone, he darted around the tent and uttered something which sounded like a curse,

"They must have got bored and went to start the attack without us."  
_Still going on like an ambush is the only way._ She thought but she slipped down the open trapdoor before them. Next thing she knew, she was being hauled onto Noalith's back before she had time to take in the darkness of the earthy passage below them and the long sloping path before them, "We will use our powers to increase our speed. You cannot keep up with us so you will ride with me. Hold on or you are lost."

Manastreth appeared beside them and began to lead the way. All Luna could see was a white blur ahead of them in the light of the glowing ball Noalith had conjured to guide their way. She was feeling a little dizzy but she kept her head up. It was like the most wild and rapid broomstick ride she could ever imagine. Like a Firebolt that no one was really controlling (but she hoped that the two were looking where they were going).

The passage was all a blur of dark stone but she supposed that it was carved with elven runes. It was a habit of elves to leave their runes on everything they made even if no one would see it, _They may be immortal and wise but they certainly are very vain. _Luna hoped that Noalith had not caught that tenor of thought. Then again, he didn't seem to be using his Rinatula as possible. She had noticed that in their time travelling with each other. That was good, though. He was reviving conversation and not the one-sided discussions he was so used to, _It must be so dull to know what a person was going to tell you before they did. How could you talk to anyone properly if you did?_

At last, when Luna was starting to feel a little sick, they skidded to a halt before a large wooden door. This didn't look out of place in such an obviously constructed passage but there was definitely something different about it. For one, the runes were Drow instead of elven. The runes were more spiked, less curved and more basic. Luna found these runes a lot easier to understand but still could not comprehend the words they were spelling out.

Noalith pressed his long ear to the door. Luna had pulled that ear once when he had first demonstrated how a Suppression Rosary worked. He had been very annoyed with her. She supposed that they were like Crumple-Horned Snorkacks; their ears were sensitive and they didn't like them being tugged. When Noalith straightened up, he had grave news,

"Draco is beyond that door. Hari is with him. No guards, merely the pair of them. Draco is unprepared but Hari is tense. He seems to be unbalanced. I do not know what the Warmistress and Draco have done to him but...well, you shall see what I open the door. The spell Draco is under is not strong. She clearly does not have a high opinion of his magical defences. If I can knock him unconscious, I may be able to remove it. Luna," He turned to her and reached out a hand, while uttering what sounded like an incantation.

Once he had finished, she felt strangely numb and, for a moment, she worried that she was being sent back. But nothing. Her sight and sound was not fading, just everything else, "This spell will give you the power to pass into the room unnoticed. I cannot make you invisible for I fear that any sound may make him aware of your presence. With this spell, you can make small noises and small movements but this is frail. Do not run, do not shout, do not make sudden movements. Draw attention to yourself and you shall be visible. Keep to the shadows."

Luna nodded slowly, trying to keep her movements to a minimum. With that, Noalith opened the door. Within was a spacious cavern furnished like the tents in the camp. With Eastern and Oriental type decorations with the furs and fangs hallmark of Drow decor. Blue-flamed candles were lit, casting everything in an sapphire-coloured glow, and Luna could have sworn she heard the distant lapping of water. A blond elf, dressed in oriental-like clothes, was lounging on one of the couchs on the opposite side of the room.

By moving around the walls, she recognised him as Draco. Her heart sank when she saw the expression on his face. It was sneering, just like he used to be before he discovered the elves. She realised that the spell the Warmistress had cast upon him had probably made him regress back to his old bigoted self. Something was lying across him like a blanket. But it was far too thick for that.

No, it was a person. An elf dressed in a white nightshirt and with long dark hair was lying on top of him, clinging on as though his life depended upon it. Luna guessed that it was Hari but he was far from her vision of a regal, charismatic prince. He looked utterly hysterical and demented; wild-eyed, dishevelled, under his breath uttering the same words over and over again like a mantra, "_Mela le...mela le...mela le..._" and strange red streaks down his face from his eyes like he had been weeping blood,

"Ah, hello, everyone." Draco closed the book he had been half-reading, "I'm sorry, but it looks as though you've taken a wrong turn."

"What have you done with Hari?" Noalith took a step forward, half-raising his fist.

Instead of answering, Draco leaned in and said, in a tantilising sort of voice, "Hari, if you kill that half-Drow, I'll love you forever." The mantra ceased immediately. Hari leapt up off Draco, grabbed a ceremonial-looking dagger from a table and lunged at Noalith, who only just managed to dodge, "Does that answer your question?" Draco sneered.

Luna moved around the couch, wishing she could do something but knowing she couldn't. She was wandless and human, all she could do was stand and watch. It didn't stop her wondering, though, if she could pick up one of those heavy-looking vases and knock him out that way. But, then again, she would only have one chance, since the spell would definitely break with the smash. And, Hari would probably turn on him as soon as he realised that Draco was in danger,

"Lovely, isn't it?" Draco said and Luna thought he was talking to himself until he looked up at her and smiled, "Attacking his own best friend because I told him to. He's taking _so_ long though." He turned back and gave a dramatic fake yawn, "I guess you _don't_ love me, after all, Hari."  
At these words, Hari redoubled his efforts, his hair flying like a banner, and Noalith began to sustain injuries. Manastreth was beside himself with distress, trying desperately to hold him back and persuade him to stop. Hari was completely deaf to all this, however, seemingly only concentrating on killing Noalith to please Draco,

"It's horrible." Luna said, bluntly, knowing that the spell was useless, "You're torturing him."  
"Just like he did to me." Draco pointed out, "I think it's fair retribution. Especially when that half-Drow is the one who sold him the potion that made me love Hari. Yes, I know all about that now. Ralshiva even showed me a sample of it to prove it. It's over there on the dresser."

Noalith himself finally found an opening and his fist became a blur. Hari got hit full on in the face and he collapsed to the ground instantly, limp as a caught Plimply. Before Draco could react, Noalith had become a blur again and hit him so hard that he flew off the couch and collapsed onto the floor. Manastreth looked stricken and said something that was probably along the lines of 'what did you do that for'.

Noalith pulled him back onto the couch and began muttering under his breath. His hand retracted and, with it, came a purplish veil that materialised out of nowhere from Draco's face. As soon as it was away, it dissipated into the air. It was perhaps half a second after that when Luna gave a cry to alert to the others of what was happening.

Starting at the corner of his eyes, something red was seeping from under his eyelids and trickling slowly down his skin. Exactly the same as Hari, _Maybe a Wrackspurt got into his eyes._ Noalith didn't seem to think so, however. He picked up a small drop and examined it, "It is the potion." He said, almost at once, "It is its effect to come out from his eyes like tears once the feelings are so strong that they are genuine since it is no longer needed. I know. Yes, I sold Hari this to use on Draco." He added, without any regret.

Ignoring this, Luna pointed to Hari, "What's that on his face, then?"

Puzzled, Noalith strode over and examined the red streaks upon Hari's otherwise white face. It was clear from his face that what he discovered was not at all predicted. Luna managed to guess what it was before he said it, "It is the same potion. It has just completed its course-" He could not get any further. For the dagger was embedded in his shoulder.

Hari had awoken at Noalith's touch and had struck without any of them seeing. Manastreth gave a loud cry of horror and rushed to his son's side, who was slumping back. Luna could only look on in terror as Hari stood up and strode towards her. No, he was not even looking at her. Without seeming to even register her presence, he crawled back onto Draco like a child onto a parent, whispering the mantra again, "_Mela le...mela le..._" Luna knew what this meant, as she had heard him whisper this to Draco many times in the human world; 'I love you'.

She knew she should go to Noalith but Draco was opening his eyes and she wanted to see what he would do. Whether the spell had truly been removed. Seeming to forget where they were, Draco murmered, "_Mela le._" Hari stopped his mantra and, for a moment, froze. Draco spoke more words in soft elvish, which Luna supposed were romantic. They proved right as Hari was soon pulled into Draco and into a kiss. She had seen them together before but she'd never seen them kiss. It was intriguing and beautiful at the same time, making her almost forget Noalith bleeding a little way off.

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A/N: Finally, a snippet of romance. Something I haven't done in a while. Hope I haven't lost my touch.


	17. Back to the Elves

A/N: I'm actually getting back into this now. I don't know what made me gain my inspiration again but I'm going with it!

**nomoreseverusharryslash: ** Oh, ha ha, very funny.

**evildictionaryninja: **It can be a bit confusing but it'll become clear soon.

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 17: Back to the Elves**_

He didn't want to think about the sort of things he might have done under the influence of Ralshiva's magic. He didn't remember anything past being enchanted but he knew it must have been awful. Not to mention, devastating to Hari, who was now clinging to him as though his life depended upon it.

_BOOM!_

A sudden, wall-shaking explosion rattled the place, jolting Draco from his happiness at seeing Hari. Breaking their kiss, he looked around bewildered for any sign of damage. He knew the place was magically constructed so, if the creator had died, the whole place would collapse. So, if Ralshiva had been killed-

"Come on!" He called to the others, "Let's get out of here."

Noalith nodded, though Draco could see a slight stagger in his step and a good deal of blood staining his dark clothes. Lovegood began to hurry towards the door and he became aware, with a small blush, that she had been watching him and Hari until then. The long-haired Drow he had never seen before seemed to comprehend that they were indeed in some danger and half-supported Noalith away.

They had only just reached the door when the ceiling cracked and, with a great, earth-shaking crash, the rock caved in on the place where they had been standing. Sunlight streamed in with the dust, illuminating the place so brightly that Draco had to blink several times before he could see properly. It wasn't surprising after the dingy light of the cave before.

Hari still clung to him like a little boy frightened of the dark, as though afraid that Draco was going to leave him again. Draco sighed: he may be a Prince but he could be such a baby sometimes. As the dust settled, he had a look round at the Drow. It was obvious that he wasn't on Ralshiva's side because no Drow he knew would be caught dead wearing such an elven-looking robe. Besides, although his face had the conventional dark hue and his hair was ridiculously long, it didn't look Drow-ish at all. It looked too...kind for that.

In fact, now that he looked more closely, he thought that Noalith and the Drow liked rather alike. Same hairstyle, same eye shape, same face shape. Their height was almost exactly identical as well, _If Drows are anything like pureblood wizards, they might be related in some way._ He theorized. Then, a dark shape rose from the rubble. Someone small with short hair,

"_DRACO_!"

In an instant, it had sprung out, shoved Hari out of the way and bowled straight into him. He fell back onto the stone, bashing his head painfully against it. Stars winked in front of his eyes and his vision blurred with pain. Swearing, he glared up at the person who attacked him, who was now sitting on his stomach and laughing,

"_Still alive, eh, Draco?_"

"_M-Maederhwen_?"

He didn't have time to see her clearly however, because she was wrenched off him a second later and the shape of Hari was upon him again. By the time his head had cleared and he could sit up, the figure of the elven Maederhwen was slumped against the wall, clutching her head,

"_Ouch. Hari, what the hell did you do that for? I was only saying hello._"  
"_A rather strange way to greet him._" The Drow pointed out, unecessarily,

"_It's none of your business, shadowborn!_" She was nocking back an arrow on a bow that had come out of nowhere and aiming at his head. In an instant, Noalith had thrown himself at her and threw the bow aside,

"_Do not even think of harming my father, Princess, you may be._"

"_Your FATHER?_" She repeated, bewilderedly looking quickly from him to the Drow and back again about five times before she got the words out, "_But I thought you hated him! You always said he was a heartless-_"

"_I did not know my father then._" Noalith cut across her rather sharply, his cheeks flushing. It was the first time Draco had ever seen that happen and it astonished him. Noalith never normally showed such emotion, least of all in public, "_Do not speak ill of him._"

"_You're his dad?_" Maederhwen turned to the Drow, "_You're Manastreth Valshares? THE Manastreth of the Rhunyle Seas?_"

"_I was he._" answered the Drow, dipping his head politely to her as though they were being formally introduced, "_I am now known as Father Mana of the Three Sisters Monastary._"

Maederhwen had a look on her face as though she had just seen Manastreth sprout six extra arms for no reason. After a long while, she turned to Draco and said,

"_Do you know what the hell's going on with this guy?_"

"_No._" Draco said, honestly. This was contradicting everything he knew about Noalith. The Noalith he knew was a self-serving half-Drow alchemist who hated his lineage and most of all his father. He would rarely mention it, let alone talk about it. It had been Hari who had explained him that Manastreth was a brutal Warlord who had dozens of illegitimate children but only kept the ones with special gifts alive. Somehow, looking at the white-robed Drow, he didn't really believe it. He believed it even less when Manasteth bowed low to Maederhwen and said,

"_You must be the Princess of Alqualond. It is a great honour to meet you and I regret that our meeting is in such dire circumstances._"

Maederhwen blinked like a confused owl and Draco took this time to have a look at her clothes. She was wearing a blue cloak with the Alqualond crest (which explained how Manastreth knew she was from Alqualond) over a suit of chainmail armour, which looked rather light and flimsy from his angle. It was the first time he had seen her in armour and wearing a circlet around her head, very much like the one Hari often wore (which explained how Manastreth knew she was a princess),

"_I don't get it._" Maederhwen moaned, "_I come here for the fight and here I find that Hari's a loony, Noalith loves his father and his father's a nice guy! What the hell's going on, here? Isn't ANYTHING normal any more?_"  
"_Welcome to my world._" Draco muttered. He hadn't encountered anything normal in the elven world since he first discovered it, "_Anyway, how did you get here?_"  
"_Noalith left the portal open, didn't he?_" Maederhwen said, talking in a very fast voice,"_So, I thought 'the hell with the monsters, let's go'. I go in, fight them off enough and find myself right in front of the Hydana!_"

"_The Hydana?_" Draco repeated, "_What were they doing?_"

"_That's what I asked. I just yelled at them; 'hey, where are you going', like that. And, they said that they were gonna attack this monastary that Drows had taken over. Get this, they also said that the entire Valivial royal family was being held hostage there and the Akhohr was already trying to break through the defences._"  
"The Akhohr?" Lovegood repeated, who was watching interestedly from the sidelines, "Oh, of course. The army wouldn't leave their King and Queen to be held by the Drow, would they? I forgot about that. I thought the monastary was defenceless."

"_The Hydana are coming?_"

"_I've already said that!_"

"_I know, but doesn't that mean that the Akhohr are being overwhelmed?_"

There was a moment's pause then. an awkward smile spread across her face, "_I didn't ask about that._"

Draco smacked himself in the forehead with exasperation, "_You just went along without knowing anything?_"

"_It's so fun to fight them!_" She said, as though she had been asked by a professor why she hadn't done her homework, "_I thought I'd tag along for the party._"

"_I think we would like to know,_" Noalith said, in his usual sneer, "_how you came to find us with your limited detection skills and why you so brutally smashed through the roof with little regard as to who might be underneath?_"

Scowling, she said, "_I got it from Celemarin. The Nimohtars are here, as well, y'know._"

"_Really?_" Noalith sneered and Draco remembered that he was a Nimohtar as well, "_What use are their tracking abilities in a battle?_"

"_When you've finished arguing over nothing,_" Draco cut in, feeling that this discussion was going to get them nowhere fast, "_you might remember that there's a battle going on!_"

"_Oh, right!_" Maederhwen gasped, as though she only had just remembered. Approaching the hole, she looked up, put her fingers to her mouth and gave a loud whistle. With a wooden clattering, a rope ladder descended from the hole, which Draco only just realised was about fifty feet high, making him feel rather strangely as though he had fallen down a well, "_Okay. Grab on. I'll go first. Last one up's a Drow drone!_"

Noalith rolled his eyes as he ascended the ladder after her. Draco stood up and pulled Hari to his feet, who still clung to him as though he would never let go, "_Come on, you pointy-eared twit. Get up that ladder. I'm not carrying you._" It was about five minutes before Hari could be persuaded to ascend before him. The ladder was wobbly and Draco unconsciously grabbed the wooden rungs so tightly that his knuckles were white.

As he came into the sunlight, it became apparent how cold the tunnels below had been. For now, his fur cloak felt very hot indeed, whereas he did not feel any difference down there. The vertical tunnel was still unsteady and Draco had to dodge a falling dislodged stone twice, remembering to warn the other two behind him. Hari was waiting for him at the edge and pulled him so fast that Draco felt he was at risk of whiplash.

Silver-clad soldiers surrounded them, wearing chainmail like Maederhwen. He spotted Queen Mirima at the head of the crowd, wearing a blue cloak like her daughter and with wide eyes as Draco came up. Again, she reminded him painfully of his mother and that he had acted so coldly to her over the holidays. He knew that the connection between the elven world and the human one was out of balance and the time difference was disorientated. Years could have gone by in the human world by this time and she could be worried sick.

The Queen opened her mouth to speak but then, Manastreth came through the hole. At once, the Hydana were in arms, reaching for their weapons and crying out that a Drow had followed them. Before they could do anything to him, however, Maederhwen held up her hands and said, "_It's okay! He's a good Drow! Good Drow, I said! Put that down, Athara! You'll have someone's eye out!_"

Luna came up then, looking bemusedly around at the soldiers reluctantly putting away their weapons, "I wonder how often this happens to Manastreth." She wondered aloud. Draco too supposed that many elves had driven him away for what he was. Very like how wizards did to other creatures like werewolves. Manastreth, however, did not look at all offended or upset by it, which proved that he was probably used to it.

The Queen frowned, "_A good Drow? Impossible._" Draco felt a small twinge at her lack of tact but again, Manastreth took no offence and bowed low, as he had done to Maederhwen,

"_Honoured Queen, my humble greetings to you._"

Like her daughter, the Queen looked stricken at this strange politeness coming from what she had thought was the enemy, "_Well, uh, thank you._" She accepted it, after a while, and put her head to one side, "_You are dressed rather strangely for a Drow._"

"_I was accepted into the Order of the Three Sisters, unknowing of the Warmistress infiltrating it with the Prince of Valivial and my daughter. This robe is the mark of my commitment to the Three Sisters._"

"_You're a priest?_" repeated Maederhwen, astonished, "_Good gods, you are a weird one! And, get this, Athara. He isn't just ANY Drow. He's only the Warlord of the Rhunyle Seas, Manastreth Valshares!_"

"_You?_" repeated Queen Mirima. Draco realised that she too must be under the impression that he was a bloodthirsty tyrant, "_This cannot be._"

"_With all due respect, there will be time enough to explain later._" Noalith interrupted, "_Your Majesty, I must know of the state the monastary is in._"

Queen Mirima scruntinised him for a moment, "_You are Morendil, are you not? Calenendil's right-hand Nimohtar?_"

"_I am, Your Majesty._" Noalith nodded. The Queen actually chuckled at this,

"_My daughter, what a strange collection you have amassed in the tunnels. The Prince of Valivial, his Nienna, the Warlord of the Rhunyle Seas, a Lindaria Nimohtar and a human..._I'm sorry. I don't know your name." Unlike other Alqualond elves, she could speak perfect English. He supposed that was because only the royals ventured into the human world or got visits from there,

"Luna Lovegood." Luna seemed to realise that she was talking to a Queen and curtsied in a human way which most elves would never do.

The Queen was satisfied, however, and was soon dishing out orders, "_Since the King and Queen of Alqualond has failed-I mean, they cannot lead their army, I will take charge of both the Akhohr, the Hydana and the Orade._"

"_The army of Ithil'orad._" Noalith muttered to Draco, who had probably known that Draco did not know. This knowledge, however, made Draco feel even worse. If armies from all three countries in the Entante, it must be a very serious problem,

"_The Princesses of the Orade are among their army so, while you are fighting, be mindful of them._"  
This made Draco start, _Gallothia and Estelliel are here as well? How can they fight?_ Though he knew that, being elven princesses, they were probably well taught in how to defend themselves but the image of their doll-like human forms still pervaded his mind,

"_Before we reach the battlefield, we must take care of these people. Morendil, Manastreth and Miss Lovegood will accompany me to explain what has transpired and find a way to send the human back to her body in her world. The Prince and his Nienna will be transported to the house of Lord Moorefield, where the King and Queen are recovering. Make it so, captain._"  
So, they parted. Manastreth, Noalith and Luna went off with the Queen into a camp that Draco only just noticed behind the army. While they went past, Luna waved merrily at the soldiers, who stared at her Hogwarts robes and strange floating hair, and, before she vanished into them, she waved at Draco with a glowing smile on her face. Draco awkwardly returned it, wondering how on earth she could still be so serenely cheerful in the middle of a possible war.

The captain bowed politely to them and took off her helmet, revealing hair tied into two plaits rolled into buns on each side of her head like curled ram's horns, "_I am Shelpa, Captain of the Hydana. I will be arranging your transport to Lord Verimir Moorefield's house. Please, follow me._" She walked away among the trees. Hauling Hari to his feet and half-carrying him, he followed.

He had forgotten how bright everything was in the elven world. Everything seemed to have its own sparkle or glow, which did not extend to the tunnels below. The sun beat down upon them, making Draco wish even more that he was not wearing furs. He supposed that the seas were very cold if the Drows preferred these.

Speaking of his clothes, he could not help but notice Shelpa glance back at him, most particularly at the Drow-style he was sporting. And, the potion that had seeped from his eyes, now drying into red streaks down his face to match Hari's. He hoped that the particular potion was not commonly known; he would never hear the end of it. There would be no hiding it from the King and Queen of Valivial, though. What on earth would they say when they heard?

A cold feeling of dread entered into him as he climbed into the carriage. What if they said that, because the love was not natural, he was not fit to be his Nienna? That he should be sent back home, never to see Hari again. What if Hari was punished for deceiving him? He knew that love-potions use and trafficking was illegal in Valivial, as was any manipulation of humans. To do both at the same time...did they have the death penalty for princes here?

He did not speak throughout the journey. He could feel Shelpa glancing back at him every now and then; he wasn't sure whether she was more interested in the potions streaks or his Drow clothes. Or maybe Hari, who had fallen asleep beside him. Draco wondered absently whether she was another rejected suitor. Wherever he went in the elven world. there always seemed to be at least ten of Hari's past jilted lovers within a two mile radius.

Sometimes, it was just irritating to find an elf come up to him and warn him that the Prince would let him go soon. But, of course, there were those that took it a bit too far. Some fled the place as soon as they saw Hari coming, some tried to make Hari love them again and one or two (he remembered with a slight frightened shudder) had tried to kill them. Either Hari for jilting them or Draco for taking him from them. This very terrifying first experience (in which the royal carriage had been hit by a fireball) had taught him that stalkers existed even in the elven world.

To take his mind off things, he tried looking out of the window to marvel at the elven woodland. That attempt failed miserably, however. They were at the top of a hill and there was a great tunnel of smoke reaching up to the sky. Just like the orcs burning at the Renelata Valley battle. His stomach turned as he thought of Drows burning. Or was it even elves? He dreaded to think.

As he watched, despite his feelings of sickness, he saw a pale green streak rise from the flames like a phoenix and descend back down in a graceful arc. Twice more the thing flew through the air in rapid succession, like it was an Irish Quidditch player on the fastest broomstick he'd ever seen. He soon became more interested in that than the fire. What was it exactly? Some kind of spell to catch Drows unawares? The carriage was picking up speed and he couldn't see properly from then on.

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It was evening before they reached Maltandir's house. He could just pick out guards hiding among the trees which had not been there before, which was what could be expected of a safehouse. They were taken straight to the door and had to leave the carriage very quickly, which was very hard to do considering that there were about twenty steps up to the front door and he was still supporting Hari.

They said their farewell to Shelpa and was handed over to Florial, who looked immensely relieved to see the both of them, "_Thank the deities you are both alright! I never thought I would see an uninjured hostage!_"  
Knowing that Hari was in no shape to ask and realising for the first time that being the Prince's Nienna meant he was practically on the same level as him, he straightened up and said as authoritatively as he could, "_Report on the situation, captain_."

Thankfully, she responded as though the Prince had said it, straightening up slightly as though given the order to stand at attention, "_The armies of the Entante are attacking the monastary at all sides. Only half of the monks there are reported alive, the status of the Head of their Order is unknown. It seems that the Drow killed quite a few of the monks before news reached the armies that it had been ambushed. The dead include elves of the lower ranks in the Order and higher, more skilled elves are being held to ransom._

"_Reports of a sword spirit have been confirmed at the site, fighting the Drows. We cannot yet identify it since it will not stay still for very long. However, it is offering good aid to the elves so I have ordered the Akhohr not to hinder it."_

"_What of the King and Queen?_"

"_They were to be held to ransom but Lord Moorefield and the Nimohtar managed to rescue them. Lord Moorefield himself lost three Nimohtars while they fought off the Drows that attacked them during this. While the Queen is unhurt, the King has sustained an injury which I believe has been made when the Drows first attacked._"

"_Where are they now._"

"_The King is being seen to upstairs. The Queen is with him. Come with me, and I will show you to them._"

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A/N: Yay! I've brought all the old characters back! Maybe that's why I'm getting my muse back.


	18. Night Falls

A/N: I've got two chapters done during my boat holiday. I'm gonna wrap this story up next chapter just for a little break to get my muse back.

**sammie: **Thanks so much! Keep reviewing because it's your reviews that keep this story going.

**yAoI-tEnShI1412:** Yep. At least, that stays the same.

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 18: Night Falls**_

He was sincerely glad to reach the privacy of the quarters put aside for he and Hari. Though he was glad to find the King and Queen well, they would not stop pestering them about what exactly had happened. Since Hari was still unresponsive and near comatose, the responsibility of answering them had fallen squarely on Draco's shoulders.

Half, he could not answer (like how Ralshiva had managed to get past the monastary's heightened defences), and half, he did not want to answer (like Hari had become the way he was). By the time he had stuttered out a few non-committal answers that satisfied them both, it was nightfall when it had just struck midday at the time they arrived,

"_Whew, am I glad that's over!_" He groaned, slumping onto the double bed, doubly thankful both for the blissful silence and the chance to take Hari's weight off his shoulders, that he had been bearing for what felt like hours. Leaving Hari slumped on the bed, he set about removing the Drow clothes, now suddenly dingy and dull with accumulated dirt and dust from his ascension into the sunlight. Or maybe, Drow clothes were just designed to look better in limited light. Which would explain why they all wore such light colours most of the time. Or maybe it was because they had such dark skin that anything else would just blend in.

He found a good blue robe in one of the wardrobes and left his old things in a heap on the floor. Then, he reached up and undid the braid he had affixed Ralshiva had affixed his hair into, _I've got to stop calling her Ralshiva._ He told himself, _She's my enemy now, not my lover._ The robe felt distinctly flat and plain when compared to the gaudy furs adorned with fangs and jewels that he'd worn before.

Turning back to Hari, he saw him still lying in the same position as before, looking likely to faint, _And, he's meant to be a Prince._ He thought, shaking his head. Perhaps it was being around him so much that stopped him being mindlessly adoring as before. Or the fact that the potion had worn off that, though he still loved him, he kept more of his old mind than before.

Hari was even more grimy than he was. The once, clean-white nightshirt was grey, torn and stained with deities-knew-what. The same could be said for his once-flawless skin, which bore fingernail-marks, scratches and bruises; whether they were made by Ralshiva, Draco or were even self-made, he did not want to consider. Finding the sink and a cloth, he brought over the dampened cloth and began to wash off the red streaks on his face,

"_Honestly, who am I? Your mother?_" He sighed, as Hari made no response to any of this. Very like a mother cleaning her child's dirty face, Draco wiped away the grime and dust from his face and neck with close care. He wanted every bit of imperfection off his face. Including that rag of a robe he wore. Shamelessly ripping it off, he was glad to see Hari's uncovered body was a lot cleaner. That was probably because his clothes had taken the brunt of uncleanliness.

It was a show of how often he had seen Hari naked that he did not giggle or flinch at the sight of him unclad. He knew fully well what was in his trousers; not that he wasn't excited by it, the novelty had just worn off. Searching through the clothes, he at first picked out a green robe but then thought better of it. Hari was not likely to show any signs of life soon so he simply picked out a newly-washed nightshirt and eased it on him.

It was only when he felt Hari's chest did he realise how skeletal he had become. He dreaded to think how little Ral-the Warmistress had been feeding him. Or, what she had been feeding him. This frightened him for a second when he thought of her possibly poisoning him but, then again, she needed him alive for a possible ransom demand.

Throwing the sheets over Hari, he stayed sitting by his side, knowing that he would probably have visitors to report on any breaking news and that Hari needed a guard. The elf's eyes were still open a crack, though, and were fixed on him. His stare, even from the smallest crack under his eyelids, used to make him quake with nerves but now, he sat above him without a tremour.

The moonlight was now replacing the sun, casting pale blue light through the half-drawn curtains and filtering it through the semi-transparent hangings on the bed. Hari's now-clean face seemed to reflect the light, being so pale, making him look even more ill than he already did, "_The roles are reversed now, Hari._" He said, absently, deciding that lying above the sheets beside him was more comfortable than sitting, "_You remember that time? When you came back from Lindaria and I was here?_"  
No response. It was very much a reversal of roles. Now, Hari was the one, lying upset and confused by Draco's callous and heartless actions towards him. Now, Draco was the one who had come back to his senses, wishing he could make up for it. Lying beside the now barely conscious Hari, he was now glad that he was an immortal elf (or, as close as one could be to immortality). Now, he had eternity to atone for what he had done. Just like Hari,

"_We are very alike._" Draco sighed, feeling as though he was talking to himself for all the response he got, "_Me and you, Hari. We both hurt the people we love most, even without meaning to. Right now, I'm staying here for you but Merlin only knows how much time must have gone by in the human world. The portals probably haven't been stabilised. Years could have gone by and my parents must be so worried. Oh, Merlin, I wanted to desert them too!_"  
He hit himself over the head at the realisation, "_I wanted to elope with you after Hogwarts and leave them alone. I had it all planned out, the way I was going to escape, good places to meet you afterwards and what to do if Father caught me. Oh, Merlin! Merlin, am I such an idiot!_" He groaned and slumped back on the pillows. A small sliver of green followed in the slit of dark eyelashes, "_I don't want to leave you but I don't want to put them through that._"

Sliding his fingers through Hari's hair, he toyed with the strands lazily, "_I love you, Hari. Even if it's just the potion's effect, it's real now. There's no going back for either of us. It's done, and it can't be undone._" Thinking that he had sounded very reluctant when he said it, he moved himself so he was half on top of Hari and ran a finger down his face, "_Still, I'm glad I met you as you are. And fell in love with you. Who knows what kind of unbearable marriage I might have got myself into if I hadn't?_"  
Nuzzling close to his neck, he could see his own grown blond hair mingling with the black of Hari. Tangle mixed with tangle but the effect was stunning. They had been alone for hours and an update of how things were doing at the monastary was looking unlikely. They had the whole night and the whole room to themselves.

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He did not need to be on the battlefield itself to know that people were dying. Every time a cold wind blew through the tent, he thought he could feel another soul rush past him on its way to Garthiel's realm. He could not sit still upon the chair put aside for him, not even with his son saying consolingly that it would all be alright. That the monks left would be saved and the Drows would not threaten them.

It was not the right sort of comfort though. Manastreth would only be comforted if he knew that no one was dead or would die, _The Drow are relentless. What is the point of all this fighting? Grudges shall only be passed down through the generations when the warlord is dead. Why can these intelligent elves not see that wars are not won with swords but with words. They start and end with words. Swords only prolong it._

He drew his knees up to his chest in a complete state of misery and thought of the ones still left in the monastary. Melda, who trusted no elf, being on the receiving end of brutality from the race she had grown to love. She, who had given him so much love and worked so hard in the Order. Antion, a poor human boy who had no memory of life in his home and no way to defend himself.

Were they prisoners, perhaps considered worthy of a ransom demand? Or were they thrown aside as useless weaklings? He had overheard from a captain of the Hydana that they were holding the most powerful and important priests to ransom. He tried to clasp the vain hope that, since they were close to him, they were considered close enough to Manastreth to be prisoners.

As night began to fall, the tent flap opened and Queen Mirima came through. Manastreth hastened to stand and bow but she waved a hand dismissively, "_Oh, enough of that. I don't need people constantly bowing and scraping before me. I have an update for you._"

Manastreth sat up a little straighter. His son stayed where he was, having probably read what the update was in her mind. He showed no indication that it was good or bad, however,

"_Some more monks have been saved from the monastary. Two are badly injured but the rest have got out unscathed._"

Hastily bowing courteously to the Queen, Manastreth hurried from the tent with his son in tail. Navigating through the silvery tents for about five minutes, he came to a large pavilion close to the centre of the camp. Outside was Father Carlu surrounded by Hydana desperately trying to persuade him to go inside. However, he insisted that, due to the laws of the Order, he could not be seen without his cowl. For, somehow, he had been deprived of it, letting his coppery hair spill in a straight sheet down his back,

"_It's alright, Father Carlu._" Manastreth called, "_I believe that law is now completely void in the current circumstances._"  
Father Carlu looked round and then did a double take. Leaping about a foot into the air, he jabbed a finger at Manastreth and cried, "_Drow! Drow! We are invaded!_"

"_It's alright, sir._" The captain which he recognised by face as the one who had taken Draco to a safe haven, "_This is the Good Drow Manastreth, who has aided us in our campaign and served the deities alongside you, I believe._"

"_What?_" repeated the elf, who still would not move from his hiding place behind her, "_A Drow in the Monastary of the Three Sisters?_"

"_Even so, Father Carlu._" Manastreth nodded, ignoring the surprise which some might have found offensive, "_You knew me as Father Mana._"  
Father Carlu's nettle-coloured eyes grew as wide as ornamental plates, "_You were-I-_"

"_Do not judge my father upon your prejudices._" Noalith snarled, before the elf could stutter out another word, "_Despite what your race may think, he is not on the same side as the Warmistress that now threatens your home and would never do so. You may pass along that message to the others, as he wishes to come in and meet with the survivors. Now, go!_" Flinching at Noalith's orders, he made to turn around but was stopped again, "_You would do well not to judge me either. Do not mistake your friends for enemies, or they will do the same to you._"

Shaken by Noalith's seeming omniscience, Carlu broke out of his grip and hurried into the tent. Manastreth put a hand on his son's shoulder, "_Please do not threaten my fellow priests like that._"

"_I know._" Noalith nodded, "_It makes them think less of us but you should have heard the kind of insults he was thinking about you_."  
"_That's not what I meant._" Manastreth shook his head,

"_I know._" His son shrugged, "_I was merely voicing my opinion._"

There was a small outbreak of noise within the tent. Manastreth could not pick out any words but Noalith frowned, "_They are shocked. Some are angry that you are allowed into 'their' order. Some believe you are a double agent or even a spy._"

Manastreth grimaced with trepidation. He did not have the Princess' authority over them which helped him bypass the obstacle of convincing the Hydana. Convincing the priests that he had deceived with good intentions for months was not going to be so easy. His worry was read easily by his son who volunteered to go first, "_I will prevent any of them attempting to attack you if such an eventuality is reached. Come. Let us face them._"

He held the tent flap open and Manastreth slipped through. Only about three were in possession of their cowls, which were clasped in their hands, having abandoned their law and staring at him. There were more female priests than male, as it was Drow tradition to go easy on females. Some stared with wide eyes, others had something heavy-looking in their hands ready to throw it and a few retreated to the back at the sight of him in robes matching theirs.

Father Carlu was nearest to him, still looking wary of any suspicious action from them. Manastreth scanned their faces, seeing the distrust he had grown so familiar with over the years. There was no sign of acceptance at all and, terrifyingly, no sign of Antion or Melda. Noalith addressed the crowd after a long silence, "_I demand that you throw away all prejudices you have in favour of accepting my father for what he really is. I possess the gift of Rinatula and know your minds._"

At this information, everyone became doubly afraid of the pair. Manastreth laid a hand upon his son's shoulder and, swallowing his nerves, spoke as strongly as he could, "_All of you, these are terrible troubled times we live in. I came to your Order not with the intention to harm any of you but with the purpose of teaching a boy the value of mercy. I shall confess that the time spent as a priest has been some of the happiest times I have spent. I am the strangest creature among my kind that I cherish times of peace and despise murder. I have never taken a life and bear no elf any hatred. I speak no falsehood. Please, as priests of love and healing, believe my truth._"

As he hoped, the priests were more forthcoming and his son looked satisfied, telling him that some had been swayed by his speech. Father Carlu then approached. His eyes had none of the misguided hatred but only inquisitiveness, "_May I see that hand of yours?_" He asked. Of course, he had spotted the mark of Valivial Manastreth had drawn upon the arm's regeneration.

Graciously, he held it out for the elf to examine. He observed the mark, then to the arm itself, "_This has been recently regenerated. Did you lose it?_"

"_You are right._" Manastreth nodded, "_It was cut away and regenerated by the same person, who came with me to the order._"

"_You mean...Brother Ri?_"

"_You are correct once more._" A smile spread across his face, "_Brother Ri was a misguided elf when I met him-_"  
"_Maddened by previous griefs._" Noalith finished off, "_I know of him well, also. He has been rescued afore now._" He had probably seen the question before it was voiced. The priests were ready to answer any questions and give their account of events to them,

"_We were called to the main hall when they attacked. The Prior stood before us and told us that a great tragedy had befallen us all. Suddenly, he threw off his cowl, revealing himself as a Drow Warmistress. None of us could defend ourselves as Drow drones came from all sides. They seemed utterly limitless in their forces. Some fought them and were killed. Other surrendered and were taken prisoner._"

"_I know that Warmistress. She is Ralshiva Risaka, recently overthrown from his seas as payment for taking land from the elves._"

"_Many of the lesser monks were killed in the first wave. The swords from the Chamber of Cleansing were stolen and are now being held to ransom along with the priests._"  
"_The great statues were torn down and destroyed. The brutish heretics-no offence to you, Father Mana._"

"_When the armies reached the monastary, the Drows were more committed to the battle rather than guarding us. The elves could get us out no problem._"  
"_Of course, the King and Queen were harder to get out. The Nimohtars did that. We heard the scuffle upstairs._"

The continued, merging accounts left Manastreth no room to ask the question he longed to. Were Antion and Melda safe? Had they been killed or were they still being held prisoner? Noalith could see his distress and, with his more authoritive voice, demanded silence for a moment. Manastreth gathered his breath and asked the heavy question.

The silence afterwards seemed to last for an eternity. The uncomfortable looks between the priests was all the confirmation he needed that the news was not good. It made him half-wish he had not asked. At last, Farther Carlu summoned up his courage to speak, delving into his pocket as he did so, "_Alack, Father Mana. The last I saw her was her being taken away by the Drow. They knew of her connection to you, I believe, but they were squabbling over who would have her first._"

All warmth from the sun overhead seemed to vanish. Manastreth was left cold inside, this terrible truth sapping all heat. Father Carlu drew out a scrap of white material wrapped in a bundle, "_This fell when they were taking her away to begin._" He barely registered him taking it and enclosing his fingers around it. Neither did he actively undo it. Yet, the thing came apart and revealed a priest's individual symbol. Her symbol.

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A/N: How was that for an ending? Melda's gone!


	19. The Beginning of It All

A/N: This is the last chapter of this fanfic. I'll come up with the next in the chapter once I get some of my muse back for this chapter.

**cyiusblack: **Your wish is my command.

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_**Calasier Avamela Bellime**_

_**Chapter 19: The Beginning of It All**_

Maltandir sat by his caravan, pondering over the events that had just come to pass. The smoking monastary stood over the trees, wrecked and razed to the ground. Fighting was still going on but he had ordered his Nimohtar to retreat to the top of a cliff overshadowing the battlefield. The armies could handle what Drows there were left on their own. He watched as the Hydana began to overwhelm them. The silver was spreading, engulfing the black.

He had lost three of his ranks: Luinandir, Barandir and Nimandir. It was hard to think which loss was the greatest. Barandir was a new Nimohtar and had been very popular among the ranks as a kind and sweet elf; it was a blow to morale to lose her. Nimandir was their best mage and, without her, they had to rely more on physical weapons. Luinandir had been their healer and the loss of him meant that the healing of any wounds was severely delayed. But, he did not want to think about that now.

There were many gaps in his knowledge that needed filling but he could not think of what to fill them with. For example, why did the Drow attack that particular monastary? There were many defensible shrines all over Valivial so why choose that one? Certainly, it was tradition for the priests to cover their faces but there were many others who did the same.

Had the Warmistress known that Hari would be there? That made sense since Ralshiva Risaka had made her vendetta against the Prince clear many years ago. Yes, she would want to hurt him and humiliate him as much as she could. But, if she did, how did she know he was there of all places? Was there an informant already at the monastary?

His musings were interrupted by a great baying cry from the horizon. Jerking his head up, he glanced over the cliff and saw a great surge of Drow drones emerging out of nowhere from the trees, "_No!_" He gasped, as he watched the Hydana looking around but too late. For a moment, it looked as thought they would be overcome and Maltandir made to leap into the fray, knowing full well that he would not reach them in time.

Then, in a flash, two white figures were between the two armies. Skidding to a halt at the edge of the cliff (and making a few stones tumble down in the process), he stared over the edge, trying to see what was happening. The Drow armies were not halting but something was happening. The two figures were close together but one was changing.

The one on the right was glowing bright white, exuding immense magical strength that Maltandir had never seen before. This was over double the power of the most powerful mage he knew. His knees shook with fear, something that he never normally did. Yet, the other figure was getting weaker, their power vanishing. It took him a few moments to realise that the other was giving them their power.

Calenandir came to his side, gazing over the edge in awe. He was the first to realise who they were,

"_The Princesses of Ithil-orad!_"

Maltandir had only heard stories about the twin princesses and their abilities but he had never actually seen them. This must be their greatest ability: one that did not have a name since it was so recently discovered but it involved one transferring all her magic into the other to create an unstoppable force. It had only ever been used twice in action. Thrice, now.

The Drow drones halted at this new phenomenon. Even with their limited intelligence, they knew when something was seriously endangering them. The twin that received her sister's power was now glowing so brightly that it hurt one's eyes to look at her for too long. With steady grace like a ballerina, she raised her arms. The hands morphed and extended into long blades in place of each finger.

This was brought down upon the staring Drow drones. It was then that they registered that this new creature was an enemy. It could be called a creature now since she did not resemble an elf as much as a deity. A fierce goddess with the power to smite all that challenged her. Flying over the armies without wings, tearing them apart without effort. Maltandir clasped his hands together and sent a silent prayer of thanks to the deities that she was on their side.

The Hydana had halted their efforts to drive back the horde as well, staring in wonder at their new ally. They were not the only one. As he watched, he spotted a small group of Drows hidden in the trees. One was cloaked but a telltale braid hung from under her hood, "_Ralshiva!_" He gasped. This time, he leapt off the ledge, using some of his magic to ensure a good landing.

Drawing on some of the Drow skills he had learned, he channelled the magic he had not used up into his legs to run through the Hydana, towards her. Anger began pounding in his ears along with his racing heartbeat. His fury at the dead Nimohtar fuelled the fire within him and helped his feet to fly across the wasted land. He saw nothing but her, his sole aim for revenge.

Her violet eyes snapped to him and, in an instant, she was away. Giving hard chase, Maltandir followed. Exhaustion was racking his legs and lungs but he paid it no heed. He needed to get to her. He was the last person in a fit state to do so. This was his chance for revenge on Luinandir, Nimandir and Barandir. She was much slower than he and managed to catch up with her in a small matter of time.

He skidded to a halt in front of her, cutting off all opportunities of escape for her. Her hood had fallen back, revealing her golden-dyed braids coming down to her waist. Among Drows, Ralshiva Risaka's vanity was famous. She dyed her hair eye-catching colours, wore ropes of fangs and jewels all over her body and wore the richest cloth she could get her stubby-fingered, painted-nailed hands on.

All of these stories were true, as he observed. Endless strings of multicoloured riches hung from everywhere in her body and she wore a silk dress which clung stubbornly to her body. A very impractical dress for fighting, it was clear. She had ripped it in many places and stained it so it looked as ragged as a peasant's dress. Still, she sneered at him with white lips,

"_Is that all Valivial has to oppose me; the tattered leader of the Nimohtars? Where is your army, your Prince and your King?_"

"_Ralshiva Risaka,_" Maltandir uttered, swallowing his anger to observe soldier's etiquette, "_I challenge you on behalf of my masters to a duel._"  
"_Ooh,_" She smiled, coolly, "_a duel, eh? One-on-one, swords only, no offensive magic and a wager?_"  
"_The wager shall be the retreat of your forces and your imminent exile from Valivial, which shall occur if I am victorious._"  
She nodded and cocked her head to one side, "_You seem a good deal more fair than the others. A welcome change. The only elves spoke to me before was through their weapons. Very well. Step up to your execution...I'm sorry, I don't know your name._"  
"_Lord Verimir Moorefield._"

"_Ah, I've heard of you. Yes, yes. The first Nimohtar to become a Lord and the first to call himself 'gold'. You were part of the battle that destroyed my army. I'd recognise that skin colour anywhere. You shame your Drow ancestor, whoever he may be. Well,_" She drew her shortsword, "_I suppose this could be a bit of revenge as well._"

Maltandir drew his sword and bowed curtly. She did the same and, then, it started. The air was rent with the clashing of their swords. Using his remaining magic to his advantage, he increased his speed as much as he could to draw the first blood. It was at least ten minutes of fighting before he did, landing a small scratch across her face when he overpowered her.

Both enchanted swords clashed, waging their own battle against each other. Whichever sword lost would break first. It was so hard to tell if his sword was winning or losing. He just had to concentrate on finding an opening. Ralshiva was growing ever more incensed by his continued fight and her lack of speed. She used her superior strength to her advantage instead.

It was clear that she had not been fighting very much during the battle. While he was wearied by the rescue and the escape from the monastary, she still had plenty of strength left. Still, he could dodge any blows that looked life-threatening but the misses were getting more narrow every time. He would soon have to abandon speed and call on what reserves of strength he had left,

"_Verimir!_" cried his sword, "_I can't hold out much longer. Her sword is much stronger and I will break if this continues!_"  
_Don't be so melodramatic. _He had learned not to always take her word as gospel since she could be very melodramatic in a crisis. Then again...she gave a cry of pain as their blades clashed again and he could have sworn that he had heard a small crack-

A loud, ear-splitting roar rang through the woods where they fought. Ralshiva halted, whipping round, and so did he. One was not meant to attack an opponent when their back was turned whoever they were. A dark shape loomed from the bushes, throwing twigs and leaves into the air as it did. An enormous brown bear reared up on its hind legs and roared a battle cry at Ralshiva,

"_Deriyor!_" Maltandir gasped, staring up at the huge creature,

"_Get away from my father, witch!_" The bear uttered through his sharp teeth, raising his razor-sharp claws threateningly. In response, the Drow did the most unexpected thing in the world. She took one look at Deriyor and shook her head,

"_I can see that I am at a disadvantage if your son wishes to join this fray. You are a good fighter, Lord Moorefield. I do hope we will be able to resume this fight at a later date._"

Then, she vanished. Maltandir stared at the spot where she had gone. Drows never normally retreated; it was against their way of honour. Did she really fear for her own life that much? Or was she planning something else? Deriyor shrank back into a naked elf, kneeling respectfully before his father, "_Forgive me, Father. I thought you were doing badly._"

"_It's alright, my son._" He waved the apology away, turning to the quietening battlefield ahead, "_How goes the battle?_"

"_The Drow are almost beaten back. The Warmistress had lost even if she had defeated you._"  
"_Maybe that was why she retreated._" Maltandir theorised aloud. The light from the twin was fading, replaced by a flaming orange streaking the sky, "_Come. Let us unite with the army._"

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Hearing the knock at the door, Draco distracted himself from his lazy torpor with Hari. He threw off the sheets, pulled on a dressing gown and crossed the room. At the door was the familiar face of Noalith, "_What's going on?_" He asked, almost at once, "_Is the battle over?_"

"_Yes._" He nodded, "_The Drow are beaten back and Ralshiva has escaped._"

"_Escaped?_"

"_I know. It is most unlike someone of her race. I see that Hari is safe and well._"  
"_As well as he can be._" Draco shrugged. He was surprised that Hari wasn't clinging to him now. That was a good sign, though, "_So, any reason why you're here or did you just want to check on Hari? What about your father; is he alright?_"  
"_My father is alright in body but not in mind. He has recently discovered the death of his adoptive daughter._"  
"_What happened?_"

"_She was deflowered and stained by the Drows, then she took her own life rather than live with her shame._" Noalith said all this in his usual, careless way, _Not much has changed then, _Draco thought. In response to this, he replied, "_I still lapse into these habits. Now, back to business. I have come to tell you that, since the crisis is over and the Void cleared of monsters, you are required to aid the reconnection to the human world._"  
"_How can I help? I don't know anything about this sort of thing._"

"_You do not need to know anything about it. We simply need you because you were born in the human world and, thus, can aid the connection. In the Void, you subconsciously move towards the place your mind remembers it came from._"  
"_Oh, so I'm a sort of guide._"  
"_Precisely._" Noalith turned away, "_I will give you a few moments to get changed and then, you can follow me downstairs. I believe Lady Moorefield is preparing the necessary rituals._"

Draco, having neither the time or the will to find anything new, threw on the old robe he had briefly worn the night before, which lay abandoned on the floor. Leaving Hari asleep, he followed Noalith downstairs. As he did so, he noticed one of his pockets bulging slightly. When asked, Noalith brought out a bottle of deep red potion which struck a chord of memory,

"_You are correct, Draco. That is the love potion that you were under the influence of. The Warmistress kept a sample to show you, did she not? I found it in the dresser just before we left. I thought I might take it to stop her using it to her advantage._"

_And, to sell it._ Draco added, in thought,

"_Money's money, Draco. And, I will be careful of who I sell it to, before you ask._"

A gate had been set up in the drawing room and Gailia was busying herself with the final touches. Upon their entry, she looked up and positioned herself beside it, "_I've just finished setting it up the connection to the human world. All you need to do is find the right time._"  
"_These things are rather hit and miss, as you would call it._" Noalith explained, in an undertone, as Gailia began to recite the enchantment, "_This may take us a few tries but, not to worry. You do not look anything like your human self so I believe you are in no danger of being recognised._"

"_If you say so._" Draco shrugged, as the portal blazed with light, "_Right, shall we?_"

"_Indeed. Come, and keep hold of my arm._"

They entered a whirl of confusing colours that could only come from the Void but, thankfully, no monsters came to hinder them. Draco had no idea of where they were supposed to go or even where they were going. Noalith kept a steady pace, striding across nothingness. He did not lead Draco but kept going forwards. Then, Draco's legs began to move on their own all of a sudden. They guided the pair slightly to the left towards a small light, growing larger and larger.

Then, everything became normal. The colour vanished and his foot hit solid wood. Noalith appeared beside him and began looking around immediately, seeming not to have a problem getting used to the fact that they were on solid ground once more. Draco's legs still were not used to it and it took a little while to do so; a common side effect from travelling in the Void. When they did, he began to take in their surroundings.

It was a small room dimly lit by the moonlight streaming in through a crack in the curtains. Draco was extremely fortunate that he had taken a step to the left since, had he stepped to the right, he would have knocked over a wooden chair. They seemed to be in someone's bedroom, with someone in the bed. Noalith motioned to be quiet and they crept around the bed.

On tiptoe, Draco sneaked to the window, intent on seeing if this was anywhere familiar. The curtain came back nice and quietly, revealing a deserted cobbled street with a huge marble building at the end of it. It took him a few more seconds that it should have to recognise it, _Gringotts!_ It was Diagon Alley. Now he looked, he could pick out Ollivander's Wands, the Magical Menagerie and Flourish and Blotts,

_This must be the Leaky Cauldron._ He thought to Noalith, who was investigating the things on the desk. All he could see was a small nod before he picked up a far-too-crackly newspaper. Draco winced as the person in the bed stirred and he lowered himself, intent on hiding under the bed. However, they simply turned over and slept on.

Suppressing a sigh of relief, he turned to Noalith, intent on telling him to be more careful. The other, however, was looking rather bemused, as though he was reading something mildly surprising. Folding the paper so it would make less noise, he handed it to him. Upon it was a title describing a new decision by the Ministry to increase Muggle liason,

_This is rather old news._ Draco thought, _They did this years ago._ The article was indeed all things he had read before and he could not see anything extraordinary about it. He held it out to Noalith, asking in thought, _What's so interesting about that?_ Noalith actually rolled his eyes in frustration and jabbed a finger at the top of the page. Looking down, he noticed the date.

Then, he realised what was so interesting. This newspaper was dated at the end of August, two years before he had been stolen away by Ralshiva. Yet, the parchment it was printed on was not yellowing with age. In fact, it looked almost brand new. It hit him at once, _We've gone back in time!_ Noalith nodded and, leaning in, he said in a barely audible whisper,

"_This can sometimes happen if the ritual isn't done properly. A small mistake but it can have very dire circumstances. It is quite fortunate that it is nighttime and no one has seen us. One more thing before we leave,_" He picked up a neat scroll with a broken seal and handed it to him, "_I suggest you read this. Its contents are quite interesting._"  
Unfurling the scroll with the utmost care not to make a noise, he held it up to the moonlight, squinting a little to deciper the thin writing. When he could not, he created a small light ball, keeping his back to the bed so it did not shine upon the person in it. He soon realised that it was in Elvish after a moment's confused wondering:

_Dear Noalith, from the Prince Hari of Valivial, greetings,_

_The human world is so dreadfully dull. The people here are so mundane and give me none of the proper respect that is owed to me. How Athara could abide it is beyond me. I need not say how unseemly it is to act like a nervous fool among these people. Though, I expected no less from this world. As you said, humans are such drab and shallow creatures._

_I do not wish to bore you with my ranting, however. It has come to my attention that many animal parts unique to the human world are here that would attract your notice. I daresay the inclusion of their experimentation will be of great use to you. Here, enclosed, I have a package of powdered unicorn horn for your interest._

_In answer to your question, I have seen no human that attracts my attention. If they have, it is because they are particularly awful. For one, there is the son of Malfoy that I met in a robe shop. He is the most vile and detestable thing I have ever had the misfortune to meet and I am quite determined to despise him. His family, as I know, are worse than the Drow (no offence to you); snobbish, arrogant filth not worthy one piece of gold._

Draco didn't read on. The words burned on the page, making him feel hot around the neck. Noalith took the scroll from him, "_Before you jump to any conclusions, when I next met him, he was completely in love with you. A strange change of heart, indeed. And a strange letter. For, I do not recall ever receiving it._"

_He never mentioned meeting me in a robe shop, either._ Draco added, in thought, _He said he first saw me on the train._ Noalith nodded, looking rather puzzled. He approached the person on the bed and Draco realised for the first time that it was Hari. His Suppression Rosary was off and his long dark hair was splayed over the pillow.

Noalith seemed to be examining his eyes, growing more bewildered, "_I recall that the same potion you were under was upon Hari's eyes. It came out during his madness, correct?_"

_Yeah._ Draco nodded. Noalith bent further over Hari. In the process, the bottle he had retrieved from the Warmistress slipped out of his pocket and landed on the pillow beside him. Thankfully, it did not hit him and simply rested on the linen sheets. As he looked down at the bottle, something seemed to click in Noalith's brain which Draco did not share,

"_The potion makes the person it is utilised upon fall desperately in love with the one who applies it. No one other._"  
_I never put the potion in him when I was with Ralshiva...I think._ Then, it hit him, _No way..._

Noalith turned to him, uncorking the bottle, "_What say you, Draco? Construct the future we have experienced with this or discard your elven life._"

But, Draco had made that choice after Hari had first confessed his love for him. Carefully, he smeared the dark red potion upon Hari's eyelids while Noalith incanted a spell to wipe the memory of ever hating Draco.

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A/N: Bye for now!


End file.
